Message-ID: <1157eli$9706031306@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: Path: qz!news.accessus.net!not-for-mail X-Path-Preload: news.accessus.net preloaded to thwart rogue canceller there Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: From: Andrew Roller Subject: Love Child part 3 of 15 (NND) --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Andrew Roller Presents NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS in LOVE CHILD _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Chapter Three I knelt upon the deep pile carpet. It was soft. My legs were spread, not excessively, but too wide for a girl who wore no panties. My hips were thrust forward. I offered a luring view of my pussy. I was unconscious, though, of my display. Mesmerized, I stared with astonished eyes at the scene before me. Mandy was totally nude, as I was. She was bent over a padded leather trestle. Her wrists and ankles were bound to its legs. A gag restrained her cries, but her eyes stared out, tears welling, the eyes of one suffering harm. My hands were clapped to my asscheeks, gripping them, as I watched Mandy suffer so exquisitely. Behind her stood mistress. I still did not know her name. We’d met last night, explored each other’s bodies, experienced the most intense emotions together. Yet I still knew her only as “mistress.” Names did not matter. Beauty mattered. Perseverance mattered. Love mattered. But not names. She knew me as Barbi, and she knew Mandy by her first name. All else was irrelevant. All that mattered in the outside world did not matter here. Mistress wore riding boots, plus blue jeans, but was naked from the waist up. Her clothing below seemed only to accentuate the raw charm of her upper body. Her buoyant breasts were free and without restraint. She held a cane, and with every singing stroke of it upon Mandy's butt her sumptuous breasts jiggled marvelously. Beyond stood Arthur. A new player. He had spent his seed in Mandy's mouth but already his cock was becoming elongated. Breathlessly I watched it. Clutching my hiney, I knew what made him grow so quickly, so excitedly. It was the sight of Mandy getting her poor bottom whacked. It stimulated him. I knew that he would want to see me put over the trestle next. We were all volunteers here, though. Within this room, this confining space. Arthur had been introduced to us at Senator Exon’s. We were there no longer. We were in another chateau. It was some distance from the Senator’s. The general’s, I should call it, for Senator Exon was never there. It was the wine at dinner last night that had made me think it was him. He, the Senator, that is, was in Washington. Meeting with Donna Rice Hughes on how to “protect” me. Donna Rice, formerly mistress to Senator Gary Hart. She’d had Enough now, but I hadn’t. She wanted to protect me from the “little compromises” she’d been allowed to make in her life. I’d make my own “little compromises,” I thought. I did not need her to tell me what to compromise and what not to. She would compromise Liberty to keep me from having fun. "Is it wise?" I had asked mistress, watching Arthur put his penis to Mandy's mouth. He had done it just before she was gagged. I had wanted to stop him, but mistress insisted. Mandy had squirmed upon the trestle. She did not want that big sausage rammed down her throat. Mistress did, though, and her will held sway. Watching, I had seen Mandy take Arthur’s big cock. I felt sophisticated, watching it. I was in a coffeehouse, in my mind. I brushed a strand of hair from my eyes, felt the wetness of my own lips. There was a hunger upon them. We were discussing the male appendage. In my mind I sipped coffee. It was hot, musky. The steam from the cup tickled my nose. Yes, I at 15 was commenting upon the male penis, and asking questions, but as an equal, not a supplicant. Mistress answered. She demonstrated. Mandy was stretched over a table, a trestle. We were elegant, cultured. She was naked, helpless. She would suffer for science. We would use her as our guinea pig. I admit, though, I was a little jealous of Mandy. She was about to get what I longed for. I glanced at Donna Rice, she glanced at me. I watched as Arthur’s gorgeous penis slid into Mandy’s moistly opened mouth. She took it with wide eyes, fearing to gag on it. He thrust it in, guided by mistress, me watching. “Is it wise?” I repeated. "Don’t worry," she replied. "He’s renowned for the prodigious amount of sperm he makes. We will all be well provided for." She spoke of him as a pet. A male animal. “Of course, he will have to be properly stimulated,” mistress added. She whisked her cane lightly across Mandy’s bottom. The girl flinched, eyes popping. Her breath whooshed out the corners of her mouth as Arthur stuffed himself into her. “More,” mistress told Mandy. She pinched the girl’s nostrils shut to encourage her compliance. “Take more.” Mandy whimpered. She tried to speak but her words gagged on Arthur’s cock. He pushed himself within her small mouth, speared her. She became a sword swallower. “Now shaft her,” mistress told Arthur. “Back and forth. Do it until you spill.” Grimly, knowing he could not last long if he obeyed, Arthur set about his task. Mandy squeaked. She looked like a little mouse to me, stretched tight over the trestle. She was a baby mouse, being force-fed warm, nourishing milk. Mistress patted Arthur’s bottom. She looked up at me. “He can get out of control if you don’t cool him down a little. He’s like Hercules, and if you leave him randy he’ll go wild.” She turned her eyes back to Arthur. “Spurt, big boy. Let it come out. I won’t have you rampaging around in here like some bull. We girls are delicate.” She looked at me again. “Arthur and I have played together before. Whenever you have a big man like him it’s necessary to do this. Our boys last night were young gentlemen. You can tease those types to your heart’s content. But Arthur is a sex slave. A boy toy. He played football once, never made it to the pros. He was more valuable for other things, hmmm Arthur?” He did not respond. In and out he jerked his shaft, all swollen, the veins pulsing, throbbing. It was slick and wet with Mandy’s sweet saliva. She looked like some hapless sausage machine, expelling the newest knockwurst, only to have it rammed back in again. “Go on, get it out of yourself, Arthur!” mistress scolded. “Come in her mouth. Suck, girl!” she told Mandy. She traced a finger up Mandy’s throat, stung her bottom with the cane. Suddenly, losing control of his prodigious member, Arthur groaned. For a moment there was nothing, he hung at the edge, just over, knowing he would lose his load, yet valiantly trying to prolong his possession. Mistress glared at him. She would not tolerate leaving his seed in his balls. “Into her mouth, boy!” she admonished. She slapped his cleft ass. He surged forward. Mandy squawked, her cry muffled. Arthur’s last reserve of will gave way. Sperm jetted into Mandy’s mouth, down her throat. Bulging-eyed she gargled on it. The stuff ran from her lips, backing up, she could not swallow it fast enough. Mistress singed her ass with the cane to give her encouragement. “Ahhh,” Arthur gritted. He let his loins have full play now. Freely he injected his sperm into Mandy. She looked like she was hooked up to some giant syringe, a cow getting her daily dose of fertilizer. Sperm bubbled from her mouth. Her lovely breasts swung beneath her. Arthur withdrew at last. Mandy gasped for air. Her tongue lolled out, sperm-coated, dripping. Immediately mistress gagged her with a cloth, to prevent her screaming. Not that anyone would hear. We were in a soundproofed room. But it would be an annoyance, I guessed, Mandy squawking and protesting. The female must be given freedom, but only up to a point. This much I had learned already. After that she must be encouraged by other, brisker means. Mandy, who had only had a few little stingers of the cane to get her going, now turned her head and looked frantically back at mistress. She raised the cane with a determined look. “Now that Arthur’s been ‘topped off’, he must be brought up again,” mistress told Mandy. I guessed that she meant he’d been neutered a little, made a little less frantic, but now we girls wanted his cock big and strong again for the night’s festivities. The cock we needed, but too much sperm might set him off. Yes, that was about how one might explain it, I thought. Mistress wanted him under our control. Hard, but not so full of sperm that he was uncontrollable. We were, after all, just girls. He was a man. He could dominate us at will. So trickery was needed, and a little planning. One might say that Arthur was our nominal master now, with mistress his able lieutenant. Yet really her presence dominated us all. He would not have denied her any wish, or disobeyed any of her commands. It was because of her that we were here now, in this room. Myself, clutching my ass. Mandy over the trestle, receiving the cane. And Arthur, our new playmate, his cock leaping at every stroke of the cane on Mandy’s peach. After "opening night" at the general’s, as mistress now gaily referred to it, Mandy and I had spent the night cuddled in her arms. I'd lain beside her, pressed up against her glorious figure, sucking my thumb like the spoiled little baby she wanted me to be. Next morning she'd gotten us up, bathed us, and dressed us in bikinis and fur coats. "Would you like to go on an adventure?" she'd asked us. There was a note of breathlessness in her voice. She herself drew on blue jeans, a thin blouse, a thick fur coat. We donned leather gloves, boots. We nodded at her. "I mean," she said, "a sexual adventure." Mandy and I looked puzzled. We'd just dressed, albeit fetchingly, looked cute beneath our wraps, wearing our little bikinis. "Come," she'd said, and had taken Mandy by the hand. The matter had been settled by our hesitancy. A nun would have blanched, a tot would have affrighted, but we had merely gazed back at her, inquiringly, not speaking. Our silence was, with her, our consent. The men were gone. The general and his two studly pals had left us. Perhaps he’d taken them out hunting, or skiing. We’d been used, they were finished with us. I glanced down at my tummy. It was smooth. Would I bulge with their seed in a few months? Would they remember me? I felt a swaying in my hips. I did not care that they’d departed. We were with mistress now. She would find new boyfriends for us. She turned her head back to me. Tightly she held Mandy’s hand. We walked on a wooden floor down a long hallway. “Don’t fall behind, dear,” mistress told me. “You’re open now, fair game for any man. If you linger you’ll be caught alone. Everyone knows by now you spent the night in the general’s bed. And he is absent, as you can see. They’ll pile on you and fuck you with abandon, every man taking his share. He paid for you to come here. He expects you to provide entertainment now, with your cunt. Hurry, or I won’t be able to save you!” I quickened my pace. She took us to the basement, down the long flight of steps Mandy and I had so dreaded descending the day before. “We must have a protector. There’s a little time to fetch him,” mistress told us. “I just hope he’s here!” We peered into the deep stone chamber. “Arthur!” mistress called. She cupped her hand to her mouth. “Arthur!” We walked across the stone floor. I saw the cages Mandy and I had crouched in, rabbit-like. They were open now, but had fresh pillows in them, with fresh rose petals sprinkled atop them. I sensed new girls would be brought soon, entrapped in them. No matter. I had met the test, passed through. They would have to manage on their own. I lifted my chin, felt a little pride shiver down my spine. I had done well, hadn’t I? And Mandy too. I felt my breasts, high on my chest, contained within my little bra. They moved easily, bouncing lightly. I did not know where I was going, or who I would meet. But whoever he was, I felt a little more confident than yesterday. We passed into another room. And then another. The basement ran all underneath the mansion, I guessed, as big as the house itself. There were rooms within rooms. I wondered if we’d meet a troll. Would he wield an axe and hack us up? I shivered. In my fretfulness I felt a little thrill. It ran down my spine to my tailbone, and up through my newly opened cunt. A balloon of anxious pleasure welled somewhere deep within me. I was aware of my little bikini, so stringy, no protection at all for whatever might befall me. And in my fur wrap I looked valuable, precious. He would want to steal me, whoever he was. I would be his bauble, his ornament. I would adorn his secret cave and bear him children by the river Styx. He would keep me with his treasure, guard me like Smaug. Little hobbits would try to rescue me but I would be doomed, captive. I would be a womb, nothing more, with twin teats for giving milk. Trembling, I smoothed my hands across my new fur coat. I heard a sound of dripping water. Cum-dripping, it sounded to me, as if there was a man in here who could cum and cum, never ceasing, always ready to give more. Indeed, if there were such a man here he would be as valuable as me. A stud, fertile, kept for fucking girls and wayward women. And then, emerging from the shadows, he stepped into my vision. He was holding an axe, but was much taller than a dwarf, six feet at least. I stopped dead in my tracks. He looked like Hercules. Mandy too came to a halt, startled, awestruck. He wiped his brow. He looked as if he’d just been chopping wood. He set aside his axe, leaned it up against the wall. “Hi, Arthur!” mistress greeted him. Her voice was light, airy. There was a note of expectation in it. “Good morning, or is it evening?” Arthur replied. His voice was thick with a German accent. Not German, no. Austrian. His muscles rippled. He wore no clothes. Instead, a kind of uniform. I marvelled at it. For a moment I swooned, I think. Then I regained my senses. When I did, mistress was telling Arthur that it mattered not what time of day it was. He agreed, said he rarely knew the day or date. The general kept him busy. There were always new virgins to be deflowered, or women to be entertained. I gazed at him lovingly. He certainly worked for his money here. He was deliciously accoutered for sex fun. Arthur was not his real name, but his slave name, down here in the basement. I don’t know if he even remembered his real name anymore. Mistress herself did not seem to know it. Names did not matter, anyway. He was a large man, muscular, tall, with genitalia that stole your breath away. His hair was slicked back, he wore a leather collar, gloves and boots. Otherwise he was naked, save for his balls, which were bulging inside a pouch of leather from which his magnificent cock extruded. He was not fully erect when we came upon him. “Well girls, can’t you at least show Arthur what you’d look like if he met you on the beach?” mistress chided us. I heard her voice only dreamily, as if from a distance. I was still enthralled with Arthur, but scared of him a little, too. He was so obviously made for one purpose, and one purpose only. Fucking. Making girls get pregnant. Unless they were very, very careful, and swallowed their pills religiously. Which, of course, I hadn’t been doing. I hadn’t even fucked until last night. I would have to talk to mistress about that. I was too young to have a baby. And who’s baby would it be, anyway? Gazing at Arthur, I guessed he’d be the sort of guy who got you pregnant, regardless. He was the one with the cock so huge it split the condom open, or overwhelmed all the pills and precautions you might take. Yes, that was his function in life. He was a walking cock. And, trembling, in my little bikini, I knew what I was. Had I not been purchased too, paid for? The cunt was meeting the cock. The tart had found the gigolo. Me, an ‘almost’ virgin now, and him, so experienced. He probably wrote the manual on fucking girls. If he could write, that is. Perhaps he dictated it. Mandy, finding her courage, introduced herself, then me. Sensing it was required, we smilingly flashed him a look at our bikinied bodies beneath our coats. Instantly he responded. His cock went stretching out to a point that seemed much too far from his body. It was incredibly long and proportionally as thick as its length. Mandy and I stared at it wide-eyed, not speaking, wanting it yet afraid of it. Mistress giggled and assured us that we would not be safe from it as long as we were with her. Arthur was quiet. His cock spoke for him. I suppose a man of his beauty need not say much in life. Women throw themselves at a guy like him and he dutifully fucks them. Men who hunger for power, for money, in the end all they want is to be loved. To be admired. To be told what big cocks they have. Arthur already had, no doubt to excess, what many men spend their entire lives trying to get. He was beset by admiring mares at every turn. And little fillies like us. Girls, no doubt, went out of their way to tell him what a big cock he had. Just by their eyes they could tell him. Obediently, politely, he would greet them. “Oh sir, please come upstairs with me, I can’t turn my oven on!” they might say. Or, “dear me, I just locked myself out of my car!” Then, snaring him, they’d keep him for days on end, begging for more. Begging to be filled and filled by him until they were drunk with his sperm. And now the general had him. For women, or even gay games perhaps. For children, or animals, whatever the general desired to see properly fucked. Wherever Arthur went in the world, I guessed someone was always at his heels, a woman most likely, hoping to trap him. He would live his whole life this way. Chopping wood, lifting weights, being fed fine food so that he could exercise himself upon his latest mistress all night long. He was a stallion too beautiful to race, put out to stud from the day his cock first began growing. At 12 or 13, I guessed, he’d had his first cunt, and he’d been ‘at work’ ever since. Mandy and I shivered in his presence, despite our warm coats. "Come, eager beavers, there is a chateau not far from here where we can explore our new friend in private," mistress said. She led us back upstairs, Arthur in tow. She got Arthur a coat, to hide his nakedness. A trench coat. He would be 007. He had a secret weapon. If a Russian agent met him, she was doomed. Mistress took us out to a horse-drawn carriage. The coachman nodded, was in collusion with her. We were escaping from the general. We would labor no longer for him. We would attend no more of his parties. I would play no longer with his guests. And I would not be imprisoned in the basement, either. I would have sex on my own terms, not for pay for his guests. He’d seen me lose my cherry, at both ends. And Mandy too. That was enough. And Arthur, poor Arthur, he had sweated for the general long enough. Yes, the general would miss us. He would regret leaving us alone in his bedroom, abandoning us. He would throw a fit when he returned, finding that his rented wombs had slipped away. He would rave. He would want us much, now that we were no longer his to have. He would look for us but not find us. We would hide down in a rabbit-hole somewhere, breeding. He would range across the snow but never see us. I sat in the coach looking out at the snow, wondering at our new destination. The horses galloped briskly. Arthur got an early start on Mandy. He knew his role, had played it so many times he performed it unthinkingly. He teased her. “You are too small to fuck, don’t you think?” he asked her. His voice was smooth, German. He was a Nazi inspector about to ‘turn’ a French maiden. She would divulge the resistance to him. She would not resist. She would try, but he was an expert in such things. He seemed to like her petite frame. She was a little shorter than me, with orphan-like eyes. I had no idea how she’d wound up at the general’s. Perhaps she was a street urchin from Rio, suddenly noticed for her beauty, suddenly kidnapped. Now she was about to meet her unmaker. “I’m not small!” Mandy replied. She was piqued. Foolishly, she drew back her coat so that he could admire her. Proudly she showed him her bust. “They’re big as any you’ve seen!” she said testily. Her bosoms were gloriously large for such a young girl. Rightly, she was proud of them. But he had never been referring to her bust size, as he well knew. He’d only been kidding, teasing her about her age, not her tits. With the aplomb of a plumber, come to fix a leak, he drew open the front of her panties. He ignored her tits, but he peered at her pussy approvingly. “You are wet, my dear,” he said. Whether she really was or not I did not know, but she giggled shyly. She ran her tongue across her lips. "Come dear, do not hold your coat so tightly. It is for warmth only, not privacy," mistress said to me. I let mine fall open, Arthur surveyed me. "Where do you find such awesome girls?" he asked mistress. "Here and there," mistress replied with an elegant toss of her head. "They just had their grand opening last night. You will have to be gentle with them for they are still very tight." Arthur nodded. I felt a nervousness in the pit of my stomach, yet a craving too. I could not believe that Arthur, with all his experience, with so many girls in his past, actually liked us. After all, I was just a high school girl, and Mandy, I did not know from whence she came, but she had no more training in love than I. How could he possibly be interested in us? Were we not just children? Was he really excited by us, or just pretending to be, to please mistress? Had he played the role of Atlas Amore so often that he just conned girls naturally into opening their bikinis for him, without even thinking? Was he even really seeing us, or just responding, stiffening on command, as it were. ‘Up, Arthur. I’ve brought you new babies to fuck,’ mistress would say. ‘Entertain me by spearing them with your massive rod. Make them weep upon it.’ ‘Yes, mistress, I harden on command. It is no big thing to me, though I have a big thing.’ My thoughts swirled within me, resurfaced. "I will want them warmed for it," Arthur said to mistress. I knew not what he meant. Was I not warm? I closed my coat back over me. Perhaps that’s what he meant, warmed in my coat, or by a fire or something. "Of course," mistress replied, deftly. She ran her fingers web-like over the front of his coat, spider-like, seeking. She did not have to search far. Within his coat there was a bulge, obvious even to the coachman. She sleeked her fingertips down over it and squeezed. "Do I not always warm them for you?" she asked him. He nodded. He smiled a pleasant smile. But was he truly into this, or just an obedient steed? Mistress would take him for a little trot, and introduce him to new young fillies. They would neigh politely and he would mount them. After they were ‘warmed,’ of course. And now that was just what I was seeing as I knelt on the carpet. I was neither tied nor gagged. I could get up, walk out, though mistress had locked the door and I would have to find the key first. Instead I stayed, watching, holding my bottom cheeks apprehensively. Could I bear to see poor Mandy treated this way? I could not tear my eyes away. Down came the cane again. “YEEEOCH!” Mandy cried. I glanced at the sperm-tracks running from the corners of her mouth. Beneath her face, on the carpet, there was a pool of sperm, Arthur’s sperm, slowly sinking into the rug. Before her, wiggling, his cock grew anew, ready for more action, ready to spurt again. She wriggled madly on the trestle. She wanted up, but the gag kept her from asking. Again the cane whizzed down. Again Mandy wrenched, her hair shaking, wreathing her lovely, haunted face. She tried to kick her slender legs but the restraints held her ankles fast. Her boobies were free, though, and they shook madly, temptingly. Her nipples were stiff. I knew her clit ached too, hard beyond reckoning, tiny in its stiffness, but taunting her, telling her she loved this even as she hated it. I bit my lip. I was as naked as Mandy. I knew I could not watch without being made to take my own turn under mistress’ hand. Mistress relished the caning, yet her look was not vicious. She gazed at Mandy tenderly. She seemed to feel for the girl, suffer with her, yet she was unrelenting in her punishment. It was as if she were saying, ‘You must have this, darling. It is necessary. It is a rite of passage, part of growing up. You are sprouting nicely and your time has come. Someday you will be old, haggard, forgotten in suburbia, with only a pension and an old folks’ home to look forward to. With a young daughter strutting her stuff out on the street, embarrassing you with her newly-formed beauty, drawing all the men’s attention away from you...forever. But now you are the young strumpet, the daughter. This is your moment in the sun. It is your bottom that is sought, your little mouth that begs to be spermed, and spermed again. It is your waggling, wiggling titties that charm men’s eyes, and women’s too. You ARE the center of attention. You are not like me, a helper, a mistress. You are better. You are the ONE to whom all others look. It is you that their eyes rest on. It is you who draws their attention and fixes it. Someday you will be gracefully matured, a mistress, but then some new girl will lie wiggling over the trestle. Your breasts will still be lovely, they will still shake sweetly, freely, but then it will be the new girl whose breasts finally pin the men’s eyes and hold them. It will be her ass they watch with the greatest ardor, and seek to fuck. But never mind about tomorrow. Today is your hour, your moment in the sun. Enjoy it.’ Watching Mandy, I knew she did not hear the immortal soliloquy. She would have given ANYTHING to get up. She would have paid any price to be allowed to shoot from this room, feet flying, scuttling, to run upstairs and hide somewhere and nurse her stinging bottom. That a beauty like her would one day DELIVER the stinging cuts was impossible for her to understand. I knew, though, and it scared me stiff. I watched, my eyes rolling, saw each whizzing strike of the cane sweep down, saw the result. I held my ass. I felt its whiteness, its purity, its tender softness. I felt my breasts, too, not jostling around like Mandy’s, but simply rising, falling, up and down with my breathless breaths. How strange we all were, naked here, within this room from which no sound could escape. Yet our arrival had been unremarkable, a picture of perfect domesticity. The chateau was conservative, precisely built, almost resembling a salt-box house in its design. The wooden planks seemed to hide no secrets. A pastor might have lived within its walls, preparing his sermons. The roof, neatly decked with snow, shimmered in the morning sunlight. Perhaps a bit of heaven dwelt there. Angels, liberated from a pinhead, danced in uncounted numbers in the twinkling glare. We disembarked from the coach and were let into the chateau by a husband and wife. They were bright, cheerful, by all appearances an ordinary couple. They had known we were coming. All had been arranged, apparently, between themselves and mistress, privately. They were friends of mistress, though not of the general. The husband was a political rival of his of some sort. The politics of the place eluded me. Despite the conservative appearance of the house, no time was wasted. Our coats were taken at once. The wife did not ask if she could, she simply assumed, and unwrapped us. Mandy first, then me. Mistress shed her own coat and gave it to the man of the house. They exchanged smiles. His eyes admired her figure, then drifted to mine, Mandy’s. Our bikinis were duly admired. The husband was young, handsome. The wife showed as much interest in me as he did. I felt naked under their eyes and, thinking back, I suppose we could have arrived naked. Just from their glances I could tell we would be sharing some secret with them, perhaps ourselves, perhaps something about ourselves. Something you didn’t just let anyone in on. But they would know. They would know all. Manners, I guess, dictated some little show of modesty at first. Even if that modesty was no more than a pair of trifling bikinis. One must not be too obvious, though in our circumstances the mannerly part was not destined to last long. “Come,” the wife smiled. Her hair was pretty, I thought. Her hands, beckoning, were graceful. I might have been at the beach, in my bikini, Mandy too, except there was snow outside. I tossed my head. I tried to be casual. Perhaps we would go swimming together in a heated swimming pool. The couple would slip out of their clothes, be found to have swimsuits beneath. We would play innocent games in the pool and shower afterward. We would spend the evening reciting prayers to Jesus. Chastely, we would retire to separate beds. Then, watching the wife open what looked to be a closet door, I gulped. Closets did not lead to swimming pools. Closets led to hidden places, and forbidden games. Mistress, following, pushed me forward. Her hands rested on my bare waist. The husband squeezed into the closet with her and they shared a kiss, I think, even as the wife led the way deeper into the closet. The floor gave way to stairs and we descended. Mandy almost tripped; reaching out, I caught her, even as mistress kept hold of my waist. It was that quick, our arrival, and our immediate descent into the sort of place Dante might have liked, all flesh and curdling screams and bared desires. An opened door, a rustle of clothing pushed back, a forward moving of my feet, Mandy’s, urged by mistress. The wife led us downstairs. She and her husband had a private dungeon of their own. There was no preliminary chit-chat, no tour of their home. Just a nod, an exchange of glances with mistress. And a moment later we were downstairs, in a little rec room, at the doorway to their dungeon. Beside us was a pool table, a t.v., as if the couple kept them handy as a useful facade. As a last attempt to keep out unwanted intruders. ‘Oh,’ a building inspector might say, ‘I see this is nothing but a little game room, down here. I wondered, you know...’ And then he would sign the permit. Never knowing, never guessing. But I knew. For the door just beyond was open, and I was gazing into the hidden chamber beyond. A dungeon, carpeted, with pastel-colored walls, innocent looking, just like the rec room. Except it was furnished with a trestle, with restraints lying about the legs, loose, waiting for wrists and ankles. Not a medieval dungeon, this, but still unmistakable in its purpose. Gazing in at the trestle, and other things besides, I was not fooled. We wouldn’t be going swimming. We might make water, but we wouldn’t be in water. I sleeked my hands over the front of my lycra panties. I let my eyes glance down, around. There was myself, Mandy, mistress and Arthur. We would be the ones in the dungeon, I guessed. Just us, not the couple. Us in our bikinis. Arthur stripped down to his Italian Stallion costume, wearing nothing but his gloves and his testicle pouch, plus his very necessary boots and collar. For the moment, Arthur still wore his trench coat. Mistress still wore her shirt and jeans. The husband and wife were clothed. The couple would not be playing with us, though, they said. They spoke matter-of-factly, as if there were no dispute as to what we were here for. “You’re welcome to the use of our room,” the wife told mistress. She meant their dungeon, of course. They were giving us the use of it as a favor. "My, this is all new since I last visited!" mistress said. Mandy and I stood mesmerized. There was no bed in the dungeon but plenty of strange looking "furniture," if it could be called that. I did not want to go inside but could not help myself, so strange and fascinating did it all appear. I found Mandy’s hand, squeezed it tight. She squeezed mine back, reassuringly. With hesitant steps we stepped into the dungeon. The others followed. "It's specially designed for sexual activity, with complete privacy," the young wife told us. "Bob and I built much of it ourselves." "Quite a job," mistress replied. "You should have seen me," the wife laughed. "I was naked except for my work belt, hammering and sawing and sweating away down here. I could hardly ever get anything done, Bob kept saying how absolutely sexy I looked and insisting we take a break." She clasped her husband's hand and they exchanged loving glances. "Anyway, it’s totally soundproofed, so you needn't worry about bothering us. There's plenty of food in the little fridge, so you can stay down here for several days if you like. There's a real bathroom in here too in case you get tired of washing each other with buckets and peeing into chamberpots." "You seem to have thought of everything," mistress replied, admiring the place, sizing it up. "Well, there's no bed," the wife replied. "When you get really tired you'll have to come upstairs to sleep. But then, I've known people who've stayed down here for over 40 hours before even thinking of sleeping." "Then they're so worn out they sleep for days," her husband laughed. "Not exactly the perfect guests, I suppose," mistress observed. "Oh, they're quite delightful when they finally do come round," the wife said. "You find them topless at the breakfast table, absolutely glowing, wolfing down food and chatting merrily. Of course they sometimes have a few extra cushions under their tushies." "Everything has a price," mistress said philosophically. "Well, you need not worry about paying one here," the wife said. "Save that which you extract from each other for your mutual pleasure. Use the room as long as you like. There's a key in the dresser so you can lock the door for absolute privacy." She departed then, hand in hand with her husband, leaving us to ourselves. Mistress got the key and shut the door, locked it. She turned and looked at us. By her eyes I could see there would not be any waiting, any interval in which one might weigh possibilities. Did I wish for there to be? I did not know. Arthur put his hands to his hips. He surveyed the room, us, letting his coat fall open. He looked like a general sizing up the battlefield, the soldiers, just before commencement of the war. He tried no longer to hide his beauty. His hairy chest showed, his hairy legs. He was erect, his balls achingly, bulgingly full. I squeezed Mandy’s hand hard, seeing him expose himself so casually. I realized that my nipples were stiff, stiffer than they’d ever felt in my life. They protruded noticeably into my bra. Mandy’s too, stood upright, as did mistress’, tenting her blouse. "Take all your things off," mistress said to Mandy and I. We looked at each other. There was no going back now, was there? We were too hot, too excited. We stood unsteadily, still holding hands, Mandy a bit fearful, me scared. And then I let go of her hand. She seemed even more frightened as she saw my hand slip away, leaving her own her own, bereft. She would have to make her own decisions now. She would have to be a big girl. And then, she smiled. Just like that. She accepted the challenge, as did I. My gloved fingers slid along the waistband of my panties, testing them, reproving them for being there. Mandy reached up, behind herself, caught the back of her bra with her hands. She pulled at the bow that held her bra tight. It loosened. Her tits sticking out, she watched as they shuddered free of her bra. I bit my lip and lowered my panties. My pussy showed. I did not stop, but kept on pushing my undies down, letting all be seen. And then they were somewhere around my ankles, and I was stepping out of them, gracefully as I could. We slipped out of our bikinis, sat down and yanked off our boots. Then, reluctantly, we untied the little laces at the back of our gloves. I slipped mine off, ladylike. I placed them on the bench beside me. It was hard wood, polished. All the floor was soft, carpeted, but this bench, the only chair of worth that I could see, was made of oak. Not the most comfy place for a girl to rest her bare bottom. No bed, no chairs, how curious this place was! What were people to do in here? I gulped, glancing at the trestle. Mandy plopped her gloves beside me. Mistress took hers off too, dropped them atop Mandy’s. I smiled up at her, she gazed at me with a superior look. Arthur shed his coat. He wanted to take off his testicle pouch, but mistress told him ‘no.’ Just like that. Like one might instruct a dog. “No, Arthur,” she said. And in his strength, his chest rippling, his biceps flexing, he relented. He let go of the little leather tie back between his legs that would have unbound his balls. But he frowned at her, unhappy. She smiled. She checked his pouch to see that it was not squeezing his balls too tightly. “Poor thing,” she chided. “Are you too full?” “You know this damn thing kills me,” he answered. “It’s okay when I’m empty, I guess, but I’m not empty now.” “I can see that, dear,” mistress answered. She stroked the underside of his ball pouch. “That’s what we’re here for. You’ve got three cunts to fill, three mouths, three tiny little buttholes, and a dumb blonde like me can’t even count how many hands you’ve got. Not including your own, of course,” she smirked. “You’d best be able to fulfill your duties.” “I’m not called a one-man gang bang for nothing,” Arthur answered. He was clearly annoyed at her teasing, though he still let her fondle him as freely as she might. “I killed a girl once, fucking her too hard.” “Ah, so that’s why you must hide out in dreary dungeons,” mistress smiled. “I learn a little more about you each time we meet.” She took his cock and yanked it way down, then let go. TWANNNG! I heard in my mind, as I watched Arthur’s cock spring up and down like some elongated yo-yo. Mistress burst out laughing. I giggled too, as did Mandy, clapping a hand to her mouth for fear of offending Arthur. He did not look amused. But, interestingly, mistress was the one wearing pants. He had to content himself with a ball pouch. I smiled at him, trying to soften the sense of abuse he must have felt. He was truly a rare and wonderful animal. I felt like some maiden must have, just before being kidnapped and taken away by Zeus. Except here Hera ruled, and perhaps us also, if she permitted it. I let my eyes soak in his form, wondering if I’d ever sit before such a glorious man again. Slowly, knowing where my eyes really wanted to fixate, to salivate, I trained my vision on his groin. I looked unabashedly and, reaching out again for Mandy’s hand, I think she did too. He gazed back at us, taking us in as freely and unashamedly as we took in him. I let my legs remain open. I did not try to close or cross them. My pussy showed between, I was naked, as bare as a newborn now. Mandy too did not bother closing her legs. All the lessons mommies and teachers had taught us were forgotten, sitting before Arthur. He did not want us to close our legs, I could see, and we complied. Our little cunts lay bare before him, soft and inviting. 15-year-old cunts, “children’s cunts,” as the feminists would certainly insist, but Arthur drank them in as willingly as if they’d been the cunts of women, Oprah Winfrey’s, perhaps, or Andrea Dworkin’s. Unembarrassedly we stared at him, and I sized up his equipment. His cock stuck out like a prong. There was no other way to explain it. Out it came at you, like something from Aliens, all fat and fleshy, with only one purpose in the world. As for his balls, he looked like he was just about bursting, so wonderfully full was he with seed. His balls, constrained in the tight leather, nonetheless hung with visible weight between his thighs, looking like some brown-clad wrecking ball hanging there. He was with seed and we would be with child if precautions weren’t taken, I knew. Which is why mistress' next step, after removing her blouse, still leaving her pants on, was to get us each a glass of water and a birth control pill. I watched her walking to the bathroom, her back naked, slim, her hair swaying mane-like across it. I listened as she filled glasses for Mandy and I. Arthur smiled, smugly. He knew he held the very thing we had to guard against. It was in his body, and it would soon be in ours. I shivered. I guessed the “grand opening” night had to be done without pills, for purity. I was kind of glad I’d done it naturally, though I feared being pregnant. Hopefully a good girl like me didn’t get pregnant with her first fuck. Hopefully. Now, though, I wished to be more careful. I was glad for the pills, and I could see little Mandy was too. Fortunately our hosts had thought to supply such. I glanced around at the “furniture” again. The trestle, a nightstand busy with lubricants, a flower vase stuffed with condoms. The room had indeed been designed exclusively for sexual labors. But not to any productive end. The Pope would be most displeased. All our exertions would be for pleasure only. “Hurry up, bitch! Or I’ll break your arm again!” Arthur yelled. He was growing impatient. I felt my throat constrict. “Ohhh, don’t I know it!” mistress answered, running out from the bathroom. She held a glass of water for myself and Mandy. Its contents sloshed about. Above the tightness of her jeans her lovely breasts bounced lewdly. Her nipples were sharp peaks. “He broke your arm?” Mandy asked mistress. “Shhh, dear, swallow your pill,” mistress answered. Her words seemed reassuring. I dismissed Arthur’s threat as manly hubris. Mandy took a pale pink pill from mistress’ open palm, took a second, offered it to me. I accepted. A third remained, for mistress. Even with her sexy jeans on, she was still female, a womb. She might wear the pants here, but an emission from Arthur would make her five sizes too big for them, perhaps forever. Mistress popped her own pill in her mouth and swallowed it down with a swish from her glass. Her lipstick stained the side of the glass, I did not mind. Mandy seemed not to either. We were all together in this. We would share more intimacies than a glass of water, I knew, even as we had the night before. Mandy and I dutifully swallowed our pills. We trembled a little, still obviously unsure of ourselves. It seemed so sinful, yet so tempting, to be here. A part of me wanted to flee, but my devilish side kept winning round after round with my guardian angel. And now Mandy looked like she was bereft of her angel's protection entirely. She gritted her teeth over her gag, whining, eyes weeping. Swick! Mistress' cane zinged her awful tormented bottom once more, making the girl flinch and Arthur grow. I watched it all with my heart pounding beneath my frail ribs. Could I go through with it? Would I? I longed for the woman of the house and her husband to come back down and interrupt us, to take the decision from me. Perhaps they could evict us for not paying our rent. Surely such a room should be rented, not merely given away for free, even to friends. I prayed, but they did not knock, did not play Landlord. Instead, Arthur stood calmly greasing his cock. He held a jar of vaseline, applied its contents with smooth strokes. He’d found it on the nighttable. There were all sorts of exotic lubricants there, but he’d settled on old reliable. ‘Grease ‘em up, boys, we’re going in. Nothing fancy,’ I heard a drill-sergeant bark into my imagination. I saw platoons of Marines dropping their pants, lubing their dongs. They would parachute in without pants and fuck maidens like me behind enemy lines. Milkmaids, and flower girls at corner stalls, and the girl in the candy store, wondering at the length of the candy canes until the soldiers burst in and showed her sweeter treats. ‘Oh, sir!’ she would protest. ‘The sausage store is down the street! You need to make your deliveries there!’ They would hold her then, and make her take their big things. Up her cunt, in her ass, all greased and lubed and ready to go, no introductions necessary. She would squeal and find that sausages in a candy store were not so bad after all. Earlier Arthur had asked Mandy and me to suck his dick, to get things started. I suppose you had to start a party somehow in a room like this, and to Arthur, at least, bluntly asking two girls to suck him was just about the best way you could do it. I'd coyly declined. Mandy wished to also, but mistress would not let her. She taught Mandy how to suck properly then, me watching, the two of them down on their knees taking turns with his member. I'd stood just off to the side, watching intently, a little girl afraid to go meet Santa. Arthur had ignored me since then, perhaps thinking me silly and immature. I'd watched as he'd almost come in Mandy's mouth, drooling pre-cum over her licking tongue. Then I’d watched as he and mistress had lovingly strapped her over the trestle. She did not look to be so well loved now, getting her bottom stung. She began bawling. "Shush, darling, you can take a few more," mistress admonished. "You would not want me to cut short your training, would you?" Mandy, sobbing loudly, finally shook her head no. I was amazed. Despite her pain, despite the awful hurting in her bottom, she had shaken her head ‘no’ to the prospect of being released. Why, after such antics? She’d been straining mightily at her bonds, pleading through her gag. Yet, when finally asked, she somehow found the courage to say ‘no.’ I admired her bravery, even as my hands clung to my own silken asscheeks, wondering if I would be so brave. Perhaps it was the imminent prospect of Arthur’s dick going up her that emboldened her. It was fully greased now, gleaming like hard steel before her. Perhaps she feared that I would be put over the trestle and receive him instead. The girl understood now, didn’t she? She was the center of attention, not me. Were we to trade places, she would be left in a corner, sobbing, without her reward, while Arthur loved me instead. No, she would go the full course. She would remain over the trestle for however long mistress wished, provided she got that big cock as her prize in the end. Ah, sex was strange, I thought. Girls with pussies thought of nothing but cocks, boys with cocks thought of nothing but pussies. How could God have created such a world? I still believed in him, I did, even if I didn’t obey him too well. Someday I’d become a mom and reform myself. Then I’d join the PTA and worry about the virtue of little girls, and demand more police to protect them. But now, here, such matters were ‘outside the scope,’ as one might say. Not irrelevant, no, just beyond where my mind was at the moment. I was going to get mine, and Mandy hers, and she was going to make damn sure she was first. I should not have refused to suck. I should have knelt and laved Arthur’s cock with my tongue, told him how big it was, how much I loved it. And I truly loved it. As much as my poor teddy bear, more, I guess, since I’d left teddy at the general’s. Perhaps some other girl was hugging teddy now, telling him she’d never give in, she’d remain a virgin forever. ‘I’ll be Mother Theresa,’ she’d assure her teddy, once my teddy. ‘Yes, Mother Theresa! No Missionary Position for me!’ Teddy would smile his inimitable smile. His coal black eyes would twinkle. And then some boyfriend would knock at the door, and she’d toss teddy down, forgetting him instantly. Not meaning to, you know, just doing it, unthinkingly. He’d wait, and eventually another girl would find him. Another wannabe for the nunnery, except she’d wind up leaving teddy behind, just as I had. I opened my ass with my fingers. I felt the air caress it, cool my little sphincter. Why, oh why was I being such a bad, bad girl? I squished my bottomcheeks shut. Naughty! And then I realized what a naughty girl like me needed. Alas, Mandy was already getting it. A good spanking. "Good, then, for I know you are a big girl and you have a nice big bottom which was made just for this,” mistress was saying to Mandy. She patted Mandy’s bottom, a welcome relief from the stinging cane. Mandy jerked just the same, not expecting a light pat, an admiring pat. She shuddered in her bonds, letting her tears flow freely down her cheeks. They blushed, her bottom blushed even more, all cut up now with pink and red stripes. “Wait until Arthur gets himself into you, which I hope he isn't too enormous to do,” mistress teased Mandy. “For you will truly bloom from the warmth of the cane and his hot seed.” She laughed, a pretty laugh, not one you’d expect to find in a horrid dungeon like this. She was strange, mistress, haughty one minute, kind the next. Yet she was always firm. There was no escaping her wishes. She would make you want what she wanted. She would make you nod the way she wished for you to nod. Mistress stroked along the sides of Mandy’s belly, pressed as it was to the leather pad, as if to prevent pregnancy. “You would bless us with quintuplets nine months from now were it not for the pill,” mistress concluded, with a glance at Arthur’s tool. He was such a Man, cock-ready, his ass flexing with each strike of the cane, as if he himself knew its bite. Perhaps he did. We all would, I feared, before the night was through. Mistress seemed to be enjoying herself most excellently with it. Swoosh! and Swish! came the cane again, making Mandy's beleaguered bottom lurch uncontrollably. Only her bonds kept her from flying off the trestle. Her cheeks clenched, squeezed tight, like living things hunched against some acid rain, then bounded out, as if to throw off the burning pain. Of course it was at this opportune moment that mistress laid in her next stroke, claiming that the bottom was offering itself up for more. Sometimes she waited though, to be unpredictable. There was no need to hurry. Only the bottom and the cane were important, the cane and the bottom, their interaction, nothing else. Each stroke could be savored, its effects left to linger for minutes afterward. The pain, so biting and severe (though it could have been worse, mistress wished to go relatively easy on a newcomer like Mandy); the tensing of sexual desire within us all at the sight of so helpless a figure, naked and quivering, her breasts drooping in their fullness, jaggling about at every bite, stiff nippled, the legs so long, sleek, wide-spread, her fig displayed neatly, tightly beneath her wobbly bottom. Mistress stopped, relishing her handiwork on Mandy's backside. She traced several freshly sewn weals with her fingertip, making Mandy shudder uncontrollably. The girl's face, so pretty, was a mask of agony now, eyes clouded with tears, lips pouting and sad. Yet despite her newly damaged bottom and grief stricken face, Mandy seemed more beautiful than ever, some erotic girl-goddess laid out for inspection before Zeus. Arthur indeed strode forward at this moment, his cock ready, his face openly admiring the girl's sleek form. Only the immodest cheeks of her bottom were defiled, all else was as sleek and smooth and flawless as ever. At the beach no one would have noticed her hurt in ordinary panties. Arthur grasped her thighs; holding them manfully he pulled her even higher, her bonds straining, stretching, he spread her yet wider. For a moment his cock shimmered on the air, then he thrust his hips forward and lodged himself in her ass. "Aaaack!" Mandy cried at the sudden invasion. She was so tight he could barely get the plum of his cockhead inside. He gave another thrust, another, finally lodging just the head fully within. The rest stuck startlingly out of her. It was like some fleshy post connected them, one end in her ass and the other connected, ingrown, just above his balls. Mistress squeezed his pouch, putting yet more pressure on his already constricted balls. "Sperm her, darling," mistress cooed. Perhaps she wished to protect Mandy from being utterly impaled upon him. Indeed it looked as if he would split her ass right apart if he tried to get himself up her more. Arthur was an old hand at fucking, though, born to the sport and not easily induced to cum. He seemed almost bored as he wriggled his hips to gain a better purchase in little Mandy's hole. I'd thought of how he'd looked when she'd sucked him off. He'd been casual, impressed with her beauty (which was extraordinary), but nonplussed all the same. It was almost, in a sense, as if he'd been going to the bathroom in her mouth. He made sperm in his testicles and girls drew it out from him, just like that, a sort of regular thing, like milking a cow. Now poor Mandy was enduring the most extreme and intense moment of her entire young life, yet to him she was just another girl, another beautiful female upon which he performed his daily chores. Mandy, popeyed and snorting, seemed to beg through her gag for him not to go any deeper. But her head was far from her bottom and mistress ignored her, preferring instead to helpfully pry her bottom cheeks wider. I gulped, realizing she had given up sperming him, would let him stick that awful living tree of a cock right up Mandy’s butt! “Noooo!” I cried, softly. Surprised at myself, I blushed. Mistress glanced up at me. She said nothing, but I could see it all in her eyes. ‘You’re next, darling. You’re next. That’s why you’re here. And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.’ There was a smile posted on her lips. She was my chaperone. My chaperone into the world of love. Oh sure, I might have met a boy on my own, let him get my panties down in the backseat of a car. But would I ever have wound up in such a place as this, without her? No, I would not have. Even at my school there were not stallions like Arthur. I loved every rippling movement of his body, and yet I so desperately feared him. Especially now, watching Mandy. Arthur thrust his hips in quick jerks. Mistress used her hands to helpfully spread Mandy’s asscheeks. They must be as far apart as possible, mustn’t they? Hands still on my own butt, I watched, mouth agape, horrified yet fascinated at how animalistic it all seemed. A stallion rutting in a stable, an unwilling filly, a helpful midwife assisting not at the birth but at the insemination. "In, in!" I found myself urging, silently at first, then audibly. The pressure must have been too much for me. I cracked. I wanted Mandy to have it now. It must be done. It must be finished. The tension must be relieved. Mistress, eyes on Mandy’s butt, biting her lip, prying, heard me. She smiled, glanced up at me, then back at Mandy's bottom. I moved my hips back and forth even as I watched Arthur do so to get himself up her. I wanted to bring my hands round to my front, touch myself, but knew it was forbidden. My loins, my nipples were for them to touch, and theirs for me. A party where one gets naked is a party for the mutual stimulation of each other. Only by stimulating others are you permitted to enjoy stimulation yourself. Arthur drove himself in, almost ruthlessly, as Mandy’s head flew up, aghast at this new violation. She squawked in horror. Her lips compressed themselves over her gag, opened, mewling a furious dissent. She was shaking her head vigorously "no" now, but everyone, including myself, ignored her. We were mesmerized by the sight of her bottom being pillaged. How deep would Arthur go? How much of him could she take? Outside the snow I knew must still be falling, but in here we were raw and steaming. I was naked, yet almost on the brink of sweating profusely, though I knew the room's thermometer was set at a cool 72 degrees. "A little more, perhaps," mistress advised Arthur, and he gave another shove. That seemed about as far as he could go, though a quarter at least of his cock still remained without. He held himself then, and mistress released Mandy's cheeks so that she might squeeze him. She did just that, hoping to expel him. Any ordinary male would have lost himself within such sweet clenchings. Arthur held fast though, began stroking her thighs, letting them close as much as her bonds would allow (which was very little). When he had savored his predicament to the full he looked over at mistress. "In and out now," she said. "But gently. She is very new and tender." In gentlemanly fashion he withdrew himself partway, then ploughed up her again, Mandy bleating anew at the new invasion. Back again he went, then up her, each stroke sending me shivering into a near dreamworld of desperate bliss as I watched. I moved my hips in time with his. We fucked Mandy together, he and I, him with his big penis and me with my little clitoris, his comfortably embedded in her rear, mine woefully buzzing unattended. Mistress walked over to me, knelt down beside me, put a hand on my shoulder and stroked my inner thighs. Yet she did not touch me where I wanted her to. She had bigger plans. "You will be next," she smiled at me. I sensed her heat, her own growing need. I gazed at her with pale eyes and suddenly pressed my mouth to hers. We kissed wildly then, swooning, our hands feverishly rubbing each other everywhere but where we needed it most. Arthur saw us, grunted his approval, then turned his eyes back to Mandy's butt and gave her twelve of his finest strokes with his cock. At last he spurted anew, up her ass this time instead of in her mouth, one selfish little girl getting all of his sperm. When he was spent, Arthur walked away. It was just like a male for him to do that, I thought, watching, with mistress by my side. There was no parting kiss for Mandy, no thank you for accepting his seed. Indeed he probably thought she owed him thanks. So he just walked away, his erection dissipating, as casual now as he’d been before, nonchalant, uncaring. He looked like a football hero walking away from the tackle, leaving the injured behind, lying in a heap. “Come,” mistress said. She lifted me to my feet. Elegant, naked, we walked over to our little rape victim, our sister in love. Mistress wore her jeans still, but I guessed they would soon be shed. There was a wiggle in her walk I’d never seen before. It spoke of need, unfulfilled desires. I know I myself could barely keep from waggling my butt all over the place as I stepped along. Not just wiggling it, mind you, not just swinging my hips, but walking like some cheap whore who needed it bad and might not even charge admission. I brushed my locks from my eyes. I mouthed a silent testimony as I gazed at Mandy’s fanny up close, saw all the marks the cane left. And, right in between those darling wounded cheeks, her little asshole. Sperm oozed out of it. I guessed it might not ever close quite so tightly ever again, though indeed it looked quite tiny and inaccessible even now. How had Arthur gotten himself within that little hole? I touched it. I could not resist. Mandy flinched, but her spirit seemed gone. “Don’t worry, I won’t fuck you with my finger,” I whispered. Mistress laughed. “We must get her undone,” she said. She knelt to untie the wristlets, the anklets. “She is undone already,” I replied. “Nonsense. She has had what she needed, that’s all. It was high time a girl like her got it, too. When the breasts are plump, the bottom sweetly widened, no longer narrow as her waist, then she must be introduced to these things. Waiting will only screw her up, make her crazy. She might try to kill herself, or tattoo herself, or pierce herself. This is the only piercing she needs. The organ of the male up her butt, and a little tattooing of the cane across her bottom. How silly you Americans are, screwing up your girls, when all they need is screwing?!” mistress scolded me. She gazed up at me as her slender fingers undid Mandy’s legs and arms. “Well, I don’t live there,” I replied. “No, but your people dominate our entire planet with their perverted beliefs!” mistress answered. Imagine! Her scolding me, after what she’d gotten poor Mandy into. “Get down and undo her with me, these knots are tighter than I thought,” mistress ordered me. I obeyed, kneeling. My breasts jiggled as I knelt. I was conscious of them, too conscious. “You tie tight knots,” I said. “Don’t break your nails,” mistress warned me. “Work slowly. The knots will come eventually, sooner than you think if you don’t try to rush it.” “I won’t,” I replied. I shot her a glance, as if to say, ‘because I know what’s coming next.’ She shook her head, like some preacher marvelling at the inability of one to be saved. But she would give me my salvation, I knew, whether I wanted it or not. I worked on the knots as slowly as I could. When mistress and I had untied Mandy she just lay there, bent over the trestle, trembling. "Oh, do you want more?" mistress laughed. "Nooo," came from Mandy's still-gagged mouth. It sounded as if she were mooing. A cow at the milking station. "Get up, darling," mistress said, lifting the girl by her arm. Bodily we hefted her up and helped her over to Arthur, who had retreated to a pile of cushions on the floor. Mandy gaped at him as a cat does at water. Yet we put her down upon him, and she resisted not. He enfolded her in his arms. His hand brushed her bottom. "Yeek!" she squeaked, for her hiney was most tender now, wealed everywhere (though lightly) from the cane. "Get some cream for her bottom," mistress ordered me, indicating a nearby dresser. It had proven already to hold pills and such. I went and found some balm, returned, knelt down and began gently applying it to Mandy's seat. The girl squirmed under my touch, not sure if I was helping. But Arthur held her fast and soon my hands did not feel so harsh upon her. Her skin felt hot. I rubbed, massaged, felt her bottom respond with quiverings and clenchings. My breasts shook freely as I worked. I was a shopgirl, kneeling in a shop in London, doing my duties. I knew my own seat spread out adorably behind me. Mistress watched, seemed to be sizing up my bottom. I glanced over my shoulder once, to check if she’d armed herself with anything. No, it was just her, without any cane or whip. I gulped, turned my head back to Mandy. I heard mistress laugh behind me. Her chuckle was menacing. It made me shiver and I know she enjoyed seeing me shivering. I willed myself to concentrate on my work. I must not think of myself, only of Mandy. She needed my wholehearted attention, and I intended to give it to her, if only to forget. Eventually Mandy’s whole pumpkin seemed suffused with some kind of ethereal warmth, a glow, and I watched in envy as sperm dribbled out of her well-fucked little hole. She was woman. Cosseted, fucked, loved. I wanted what she had. I gripped her cheeks, lightly, envious. She mewled, pressed herself into Arthur. Casually he stroked her. There was a sheen across her wounded cheeks from the cream. I wanted to shower her bottom with kisses, but mistress drew me up. My task was done. Standing, I looked at her, she at me. It was my turn now. “Do you have any hangups?” she asked, smiling. “N-no,” I replied. “Good,” she said, and her eyes went over to hooks in the ceiling, with straps hanging from them. “Oh, please!” I begged. I seemed to wilt on my feet. “You cannot just watch,” mistress replied. “You are not 5-years-old.” “I know, I know, I’m 15,” I replied. “With the breasts of a woman,” she answered. Her finger circled one of my nipples. She flicked it. “ooch,” I said, very quietly, just her hearing. “You have beautiful tits, dear, you should show them off,” mistress urged. “They embarrass me,” I replied. “At 15?” “No, but when I was 10, they were growing already,” I said softly. “Mine were too, though probably not as big as yours,” she answered. “No, not as big as mine,” I replied. “I was the only one in fifth grade with hooters, still little, you know, but bigger than any the other girls had.” “Which is why you’re not at home now, mooning over Love Connection and Singled Out,” she consoled me. “No, but I’d like to be,” I begged. “Arthur doesn’t appear on Love Connection,” she answered. No, a stud like him did not, did he? He was too busy. He would have had to put pants on, wouldn’t he? That was unthinkable, letting a stallion like him waste time with his pants on. Mistress put a finger to my lips. I swallowed hard. Our breath fogging the air, shivering despite our furs, we had entered the house rosy-cheeked and eager. Our eyes had been bright, too bright, betraying our wanton plans to our hosts. They'd smiled, knowingly, demurely, led us quickly downstairs to their adult playroom. Now I felt a sinking sense of dread as my turn came to contribute to the festivities. Mistress' deep, dazzling eyes gazed at me with fiery passion. I looked from her blonde-maned face to the suspension hooks which waited silently just beyond. She put her arm around my waist. "Come, dear," mistress said, ever so politely. Her fingers were feather light upon my hip. Behind me Arthur and even the tear-stained Mandy gazed up expectantly. It didn't take a genius to figure out that my bottom was going to be the center of attention for the next few hours. Is that how long it would take? I wondered. Mistress had seemed smitten with my ass ever since we met. Now I would offer it to her, unprotected, my wrists bound helplessly high above me. She would do awful things to it, erotic things, and it would delight Arthur's cock and he would fuck me with it. Who was I to complain? Had not I cropped their smarting bottoms in the snow? And I'd enjoyed it too, whacking their plump quivering hineys, listening to them moan and whimper. My long walk, only a few steps really, ended with us beneath the overhanging cuffs. They were leather, each lined with soft fur. Twin cuffs clipped to twin hooks hanging from the ceiling. Daintily mistress took my wrists and lofted them above my head. She wrapped one, then the other in a cuff and buckled it tightly. Then I watched, arms akimbo, as she stepped to the wall. She pressed a button. A humming was heard and my arms, casually bent, were forced to straighten as the cuffs which held my hands drew skyward. "Please!" I said, frightened, as my arms were fully stretched and I was drawn up on tip toes, struggling to keep from being pulled into the air. She stopped it just short of taking my feet off the ground. I stood gasping, my toes barely touching the floor. My ribs felt like they were being pulled apart for a barbecue. Set atop them, my boobs ballooned out before me, wobbling and stiff nippled. I'd never seen them so dramatically displayed before. They seemed things apart from me, yet could not be, for I felt the tingling in my hardened nipple tips. Sexy, delicious, yet so daring, so obscene. Below my stomach was a concavity, hollowed out, my hips spreading out beneath my thin waist. The vee of my legs left the alluring notch between them pleasantly visible. I could do nothing to hide my pussy. It was on view for my captors to admire as they wished, to study, to touch. Gazing at me, satisfied, mistress slowly undid the buttons of her jeans. How strange it was! I had never seen a boy undo himself like this in front of me, so confident, so self-assured. Always they had been naked already, or desperate, amazed that they might have me, though none ever did, except our gentlemen friends last night, now a distant memory. But with mistress, there was a sense of possession. I was hers, and no one else’s. Yet I was not really hers, was I? She was preparing me for Arthur. But he didn’t really care, did he? I was just a momentary pleasure. Tomorrow he would be rutting in other girls, and I would be...elsewhere. Who was I doing this for? Mandy? She lay shivering and tear-stained atop Arthur, captive-like. I barely knew her. We’d met as prisoners in cages, racehorses who’d won by losing. Was I doing it for Kimberly? Where was Kimberly? She had slipped away, leaving me on my own, to test me perhaps. Or she had simply forgotten to come looking for me. Perhaps she was tied to a bed at the general’s, or suspended like this, worrying about me even as she worried at her own fate. “A hanging concentrates the mind wonderfully,” mistress smirked at me. She slipped her jeans down her legs. She shed them like a snake might shed her skin, so tight were they, Brooke Shields being separated at last from her precious Calvins. A pull on one pantsleg, then the other, and she was free of them completely. They lay in a pile on the floor. She did not bother to pick them up. She was manly in that way, leaving her clothes lying about. Perhaps she expected me to pick them up when we were done, wash them for her. Her eyes took on a kindly look. Kindly but determined. She turned. Her fanny presented itself to me. It was white, white as mine. I wanted for all the world then not to suffer under her hand. “Please let me go,” I begged. She tossed her head, did not look back. There was no need to. She had me. We had played and teased, and now she had me. Mistress touched the wooden cabinet door of an armorie set against the wall. She drew it open. Astonished, I saw the big cupboard held inside it a display of flagellation instruments. Each looked expertly made, some with finely carved ivory handles, their whip cords cut and woven from the best leather. I saw two paddles of burnished hardwood, one with holes to make it pass through the air faster. Mistress' hand skimmed the implements, judging them by the lightest touch of her fingertips. Finally she chose a penis shaped handle with an inch-wide strap attached. She took it down, weighed it in her hands. "Perfect for starters," mistress said, turning. She looked ravishing in her nudity. Her hair partly hid her eyes. She did not bother to brush it away. Her big breasts bulbed out beneath the strands of her blonde lion's mane of hair. Her pussy was as naked as mine, the springy curls inviting. She ran her tongue over her upper lip. She walked round behind me. She struck my flank with the palm of her hand. I flinched, danced on my toes. "You are well made for it," she said. "Don't worry, I won't give you more than you can take. But no less, either. Men are far too easy on us girls. They don't know how much a female can endure." I shuddered, thinking of Mandy's poor hiney. I was going to get worse than her? The girl had practically been flayed alive! At least it seemed that way to me then, novice that I was. Arthur's cock rose at mistress' teasing words. He was hard again! There was no need! My bottom could be spared! "No! Let me down!" I begged. "Arthur is hard now. I can take my turn upon him WITHOUT being spanked." My voice was pleading. In truth he was no more than half-hard, but given his size when fully erect he looked more than big enough for me. "Sweet darling," mistress chimed. She touched my shoulder, breathed upon my ear, kissed my cheek. Momentarily the strap came between us, flapping ever so softly across the bulging cheeks of my ass, resting upon their upper curvature. "You must be made to suffer." "Please no," I breathed. Of the four of us, one had already had her bottom defiled. Now it was to be my turn, and I didn’t want it. Would mistress be next? Arthur? Or were just Mandy and I the victims? Why did my tutor insist on playing such awful games? “What else might one do, hmmm?” she asked. Her finger found one of my nipples again, tweaked it. I gasped at the pain. She pinched the other in turn. “What else?” “I don’t know, we could play monopoly,” I guessed, desperate. “This is more fun,” she assured me. “For whom?” I cried. She stroked my belly. “For you,” she answered. “It is not! Let me down!” I insisted. “Well, for me then,” she said with aplomb. And it was settled. I asked again to be let go, but she ignored me, stepped behind me. I heard the strap slither back across the carpet. It was long. Sinuous. Like a snake in the grass, it would bite me, and I would have no defense. “This is your first real whipping, isn’t it?” she asked. I bit my lip, nodded. My nod was hasty, like a child agreeing in hopes of departing quickly. “Well, I have all the honors then,” mistress said. She laughed. I heard a swish. “Oh, why? Oh, why?” I cried. A last, desperate plea. It was cut short. WHAP! Full up beneath my bottom the strap came, my first slap, cupping me, lifting me harshly. It burned deep into my cheeks. I had my answer then. I gaped at my breasts, set to wobbling by the blow, vigorously, nipples rigid. No one could deny the eroticism of my bosoms, forcibly displayed, bouncing freely. And my ass! I danced about, frantic, my buttcheeks shaking, immodest. Anywhere else the ass, the tits, would have been covered up. Here they were displayed like roast mutton (or mutton about to be roasted)! Here all MUST be seen, the girls as well as the boys, and made to perform too, most lewdly. I shook my hind cheeks like a stripper in some cheap saloon, though I’d much rather have been in church then, saying my prayers, taking communion. ‘This is my blood, feel it pulse through me, alarmed, afraid. This is my body, naked, my fanny swaying wildly.’ The priest would like me. "Your bottom will be so sensitive soon," mistress cooed. She made me shiver as she traced the burning red line left by the strap. She traced it across my bottom, her fingertip impressing itself painfully, or so it felt. In truth she barely touched me, merely skimmed the flesh. The strap had done its work. I heard the whisper of the strap being drawn back once more. I braced myself. Mandy gazed up at me, snuggled in Arthur's arms. She had paid her dues. Languidly her legs lay open. He stroked her round her spot. With a shiver of desire she lifted a small camcorder, trained it on me. "Yes, something for our hosts to remember us by," Arthur instructed. "Show them what good use we made of their equipment." Horrified I cried into the camera as the strap provided by our hosts connected with my ass. I lunged forward, leapt about, mortified, my flaming hiney making me a most immodest dancer. The opening twixt my legs was never so splendidly displayed as now, my legs hopping hither and yon, all on tiptoe. A frantic ballerina. Mistress waited until I finally settled down. "Men in strip bars don't know what they're missing, hmmm?" Mistress laughed. "Arthur, did you ever pay to see young girls dance naked?" Guiltily Arthur cleared his throat, said nothing. "To skip about? Showing only what they PLEASED?” mistress asked. “Here we teach a girl how to dance properly. And it is much sexier, no?" I stood with huddling bottom cheeks, listening. There was a method to her madness, undeniably. Never had I looked so ravishing, so stunning. My arms up, my breasts out, my legs tripping madly over themselves as I hung in place, my pussy showing. My hosts would be most proud of me, I guessed. Would we eat popcorn in their living room, watching my torment? Would they save me, show me to others on their T.V., make copies for friends? ‘Here is a wonderful little miss, getting it for the first time, you know, and how bravely she takes it! No gag, no blindfold, just strung up by her thumbs, as it were, and not protesting too much, just a little, just enough.’ Yes, I was something of an Amazon, I thought to myself, just by coming here. All wrapped in my fur, with my naughty bikini underneath. Wearing boots, gloves, and nothing else. Yet oh how I wished we could skip these preliminaries. Arthur's cock stood rock hard now, a Washington monument of love. But it was too big now, I told myself. Much too big for my little cunt. God forbid he should ever want to put it up my ass. WHACK! "Yeech!" I gritted, snorting through my nostrils. That was a hard one indeed, catching me full force right across my hiney, sending me skittering into a new ballerina's dance upon the carpet. Or, worse, a stripper’s dance, exaggerated, dancing for greasy dollar bills from men who would die soon of lung cancer. "Ooch! Ooch! Ooch!" I huffed and puffed my way through three more strokes, all delivered forcefully, mistress stopping after each to stroke my flanks with her fingers. To quiet me down. My legs were long, high as the sky. She would wait till I stopped kicking and then console me with little admiring caresses, lightly, oh so lightly, just her fingertips. As if she meant me no harm in the world. I would shiver, sob a little. Upon recovering myself I would wait with pounding heart, plump hiney quivering, squeezing and clenching my cheeks. Waiting for the next one. My bra-less breasts juddered quietly, their tips pantingly erect. I longed to see my reddened ass in a mirror, to inspect the damage. Mistress could see it quite well and judged it still fit to take more punishment. WHAP! Searing me, the strap fell once more, and gaping-legged I displayed myself shamelessly to the camera, to eyes unknown who might view me for decades to come. Men, women, laughing at my predicament, commenting clinically on the size, the shape of my breasts, the hardness of my nipples. Even my cunt would not be beyond the ‘scope’ of their discourse. They would take it in at leisure, freeze-frame it, inspect it, philosophize upon it as compared with other girls'. Daintily mistress padded back to the armorie then, replaced the strap and returned to me with a little whip. Open mouthed I stared at her, tears welling in my eyes. I couldn't stand still anymore, my bottom hurt so. "You--you mustn't," I gasped. "Oh, there isn't any hurry," she replied. "We can take as long as you like to train your bottom. I intend to try a variety of implements on your sweet little ass. If you need time to compose yourself I can wait. Would you like some wine to anesthetize you?" "No!," I said. "I want it to stop! I want to be let down!" She felt my arms then, palpitated them, made sure they still had circulation. "Nonsense! You are doing quite well. Of course it hurts, darling. You would not dance for us if it did not, at least not so prettily. Since this is your first time I'll get you some wine. It will help. You will not be quite so much on edge. A bit of drowsiness will let the time slip by more smoothly." Saying these soothing words she stepped over to the dungeon's wet bar. The dungeon proper had no bathroom. The adjoining room, where a toilet was available, was locked. She had locked it when she got our water. It was still technically part of the dungeon, our toilet. It was not out in the game room. But it was kept separate, in case toilet privileges should be denied. A master might not let his slave have those right away. Only if she was very good. After all, he controlled the rest of her. Why not her peehole too? Suavely mistress had locked the bathroom, I not even noticing at the time, but remembering now. Where HAD she placed that key? Oh, God, was I to pee on the carpet? I didn’t have to go yet, but I would soon, I was sure of it. Mistress alone knew the location of the key. Yet the wet bar was readily accessible, and lavish. Fresh limes, lemons, all stored neatly in a little fridge. A small freezer held frosted glasses. And within a cupboard stood row upon row of angled wine bottles, at least two dozen of them, from France's finest estates. Brie and other cheeses could be had also, as well as crackers. All was neatly contained in a corner of the room. Everything to fill you up and make you go, but nothing into which you might relieve yourself, when you were done. I hadn’t seen the wet bar until now, given all the unusual furnishings in the room, but there it stood, ready to serve, a quiet reminder of the elegance with which we were to proceed in our games. "I'm hungry," I said, bottom flinching, as mistress returned with the wine she'd poured for me. She lifted the brimming glass to my lips. It was sweet. "We shall eat later," mistress, my substitute mommy, replied. "You must work up a proper appetite first." I let the wine run down my throat. I had no choice, unless I wanted to spill it. Mistress tipped it into my mouth, I drank as fast as I could to keep up with her. I knew she would not be pleased if I spilt any. I smacked my lips as she set down the glass and took up her whip. Like a runner stretching, preparing for the race, I lifted one of my legs, then the other. WHICK! The whip sliced across me then, scoring my hiney. I yelped, pranced, tears streamed down my cheeks. Twice more the whip found me, burning itself into my private hemispheres. I'd shown my bottom to mommie's parlor guests once and she'd spanked me. 'No mooning the guests,' I'd learned that day. A girl was not to expose her hiney to public view. Yet now here I stood, showing all that and more, wantonly, and being filmed for eyes who would not mind at all seeing what I showed them. Snick! Whick! Flick! Remorselessly the whip bit into my soft hindquarters again and again. I had arrived in a bikini. Had I not chosen to take it off? I longed now to cover myself, to obey my mommie. But here mistress was my mommy, and she was as adamant about my bottom being seen as my mother was about it being unseen. I cried then, soon found myself bawling, yet mistress kept up her depredations on my poor hiney. She traded her whip for a flexible bamboo switch, frayed at one end from over-use. Some other girl must have worn it down to its present state. Perhaps our hostess herself? I bit my lower lip and wept openly as the switch went to work on my fanny. I lost all sense of time. Through bleared eyes I suffered quietly, choking back my sobs at last and letting myself dance, respond, unthinkingly. The switch would strike, I would dance, the camera would whir, recording all. My bottom was afire, a burning ball, yet the rest of me was deliciously, tantalizingly naked, unhurt, aroused, my clit and titties burning with their own erotic fire. I looked extremely beautiful in my agony and I knew it. I felt proud, knowing no man could watch the film of my travail without becoming painfully erect himself. My torture would torture him. If he was alone, he might watch wide-eyed, and curse himself afterward for cumming. Some time later, as I swung, exhausted, head bowed, hair flowing from my head down over my shoulders in golden disarray, I felt my wrists being unbuckled. I did not even lift my face to see who my savior was. Hot bottomed I was enclasped in arms, felt breasts then, pressing against my own, mistress' voice whispered in my ear as I rested my head upon her shoulder. "There, darling, there, you did very well," she said, patting my head. She dragged me over to the pillows and plopped me down amongst Arthur and Mandy. Like vampires then they got their mouths upon me, kissing me and tonguing me, opening my every orifice with lapping, probing kisses. Someone spread cream over my bottom and I was grateful, though it made me wince awfully and I cried out for them to stop. At last I felt myself being turned over, shouting as my ass came to rest upon a silken pillow. A hard cock entered me then, straight into my cunt. It pummeled me into a swooning orgasm and I blacked out in a wave of intense pleasure. *** Three figures, tromping through the snow. Short, heavy-set. Fireplugs on patrol. For the general. “How did we get stuck with this fucking job, looking for those two teenage whores?” one griped at the other. “Two 15-year-olds...” He kicked at the snow. I named him Tweedle-dee. “They should be back home with their parents, where they belong,” Tweedle-dumb answered. “Yeah, back home with their parents, like Susan Smith said,” Tweedle-dumber agreed. “It’s all the fault of the WJO!” Tweedle-dumb opined. “The what?” dumber asked. “The World Jewish Organization,” dumb answered. “Did you ever count up how many Jews there are in Hollywood? That’s why your movie script’s never sold. You’re not a Jew.” “Maybe if I changed my name to Simon Wiesenthal,” dumber offered. “Well, if you do that, you must like to fuck underage minor children,” dumb answered. “Particularly if they are Jap children.” “Like Swoon Yee?” “Or whatever her name was.” “Okay, so I change my name to Simon Wiesenthal,” dumber answered. “Then I can sell my movie script? I mean, if it would get me out of this fucking snow...” “You are failing to consider the WNO,” Tweedle-dee announced. “The what?” “The World Negro Organization!” Tweedle-dumb and Tweedle-dumber laughed. “There is no fucking World Negro Organization,” Tweedle-dumb replied. “The niggers can’t even run Africa!” “That is because of oppression by the white man,” Tweedle-dee said, waving an uplifted finger. “Oh, yeah, sure!” Tweedle-dumb guffawed. “The only reason there’s a single flush toilet in Africa is because of the white man!” “That’s right! We need more white men down here! I gotta take a leak!” Tweedle-dumber proclaimed. He unzipped himself and aimed at a snowbank. “Here’s to the World Jewish Organization!” Lustily he urinated into the snow. I shifted, my dream changed, it rippled into darkness. I slept on. *** I awoke amidst a tangle of limbs. For a moment I thought I was in my own bed, at home, with my teddy bear beside me. Then I realized my teddy, however fuzzy he might be, wasn’t HAIRY. And he didn’t have, didn’t have, THAT! Omigod! I came awake then, fully, and rubbed my eyes and looked around me. Twin pairs of naked bosoms lolled atop gently moving ribs. And, ensconced between, lordly in his nakedness, lay Arthur. A lion with his twin lionesses, and me a third. I pushed my blonde hair from my face. It was tangled. I needed a brush. I needed the bathroom! Slowly I got up. I was lissome, free, my boobies swaying, my cuntlips sticky. My joints ached. “Owww,” I moaned, flexing my hind cheeks as I lifted my body from the others. My ass hurt! What had happened to it? I clapped my hands to my behind. It felt hot, burny. Like I’d sat down in nettles to sleep. I rubbed myself, gently. “I have to go pee,” a small voice whined beneath me. I looked down to see Mandy blinking up at me. “Who are you?” she asked. “Shhh, I’m Barbi,” I told her. A finger snaked over Mandy’s cheeks and mistress, her eyes still closed, stuck her finger in Mandy’s mouth. “Ooopth!” Mandy gurgled. The O of her lips closed unwillingly. The finger surged deeper within them. “Suck, little one! Pretend it’s Arthur’s cock!” mistress urged Mandy. Perhaps mistress had awakened before me, but had lain with eyes shut, savoring the closeness, the warmth of our bodies. “What? Time to get up already?” Arthur asked. His eyes opened. “You’re up, sir,” I said ruefully. His cock stuck up like a post, hard and quivering with some newfound need. “So I am,” he answered. “Care for a seat, Barbi?” “What? A free log for my ass?” I enquired. “Do you have to poop, dear?” mistress asked me. Her eyes had a wanton look. “No, I just have to pee. And I have to do it very badly!” I blurted. I hated being so frank, but my bladder would not allow any dancing around on the issue. I guessed that in my excitement last night I’d forgotten about my peehole. Now it was reminding me quite distinctly. “Alright,” mistress said. “But we’re going to take our first group pee together in a special way, on an old-fashioned chamber pot.” She brushed her own hair from her eyes and got up. She adjusted a few of the pins in her hair. It was drawn back; she arranged them anew so she could pile her hair neatly atop her head. She was casual, graceful. I wished she would hurry. What did she mean, a group pee? No matter. I had to go, and the sooner the better. Beggars can’t be choosers. I looked at Mandy and saw she wasn’t about to quarrel either. “Please hurry!” Mandy pleaded. She stood beside me now, expectant. She bit her lip and I saw that her thighs were squeezed together quite tightly. Arthur lay still in regal splendor, admiring our tushies. I clenched my bottomcheeks, involuntarily, with my need. “Ooch!” I murmured. Sharply I drew in my breath. It was not a wise idea to squeeze a scorched bottom. The culprit of my harm, mistress, walked with the slothful stroll of a Parisian model over to the armorie. She had a perfectly white hiney, and seemed to swing it with sweet abandon, as if taunting us. Perhaps that’s what determined the pecking order in a dungeon. Who had a white ass and who didn’t. Stepping lightly, easily in her spike-heeled boots, she paused before the armorie and bent down. She mooned us with her fanny. It was bold, creamy, chic, her cuntlips peeping between the smooth, incurving whiteness of her ass. She held her legs apart, easily, utterly unconcerned that her most intimate parts were now on full display. Her breasts hung beyond the graceful vee of her legs, tremulous, with risen nipples, ripe and ready for love. Arthur groaned and put his hand to his cock and fisted it. “You’re bad,” Mandy said, turning her face briefly about. “Don’t play with your penis. And don’t stare at my butt!” “Who put your fat little ass in charge?” Arthur asked bluntly. “I don’t have a fat ass,” Mandy breathed through clenched teeth, but she was already facing forward again, praying for an opportunity to relieve herself. Mistress opened a bottom door in the armorie. Strands of her hair fell down around her face and she brushed them back over her ears. She reached into the cabinet. Grunting, she pulled out a big heavy old pot from the previous century. It was made of cast iron. Perhaps to belie its purpose, it had been moulded with an elaborate frieze. She picked it up with some difficulty, her thin arms straining, and lugged it across the room. She plopped it down in front of us. Arthur rose up, a great bear rising to paw his way to the head of the line. “Me first,” Arthur insisted. “Make way, honeypots!” “No, no!” mistress scolded him. “Barbi, you woke up first. You go. Then Mandy, then me. You can be last, Arthur, since you’re a big boy with a big cock to hold all your pee. We girls just have our little clits.” “The dick has nothing to do with holding pee...” Arthur protested, but I used the opportunity to rush to the pot, beating out Mandy, who clearly wanted to be first if she could. She was forced to hold her cunny with both her hands, squeezing it, as she watched me go. “Oh, hurry,” she simpered. She bounced on the balls of her feet, amusing Arthur. Mistress absently stroked her hair. Long-legged, waif-like, my bosoms bouncing as I settled with obvious urgency on the big potty, I put my fingers to my cunt. I spread my lips and, aiming for the depths, I let go of my bladder. PISSSS! Was heard as the first quick stream of urine sprayed into the metal bowl. “Just do half,” mistress urged me. “Huh?” I asked. I looked up from my belly. My eyes were wide, unknowing. “Save half your pee for later,” she said. “Just a little while. When each of us has gone some we can enjoy the rest more fully. It’s quite fun, peeing in front of company, and watching others.” “Okay,” I replied, not really caring, just glad I was first and able to let go of some of the awful feeling of need within me. “That’s enough!” Mandy called out, eager to go herself. “A little more,” I answered, and went more than halfway, just to make her wait. “Come on, dear, that’s more than enough for your first turn,” mistress said finally. She grabbed my arm and yanked me up as I tried to let more of my pee out. A little squirted onto the rug. “Now see what you’ve done?” she slapped my ass. “OWWW!” I whined. “Me next!” Mandy announced, and quickly seated herself in turn. She let out a big whoosh of air with her mouth, obviously relieved, as her pee began spritzing. I could hear it splashing into my own. Mistress unseated her next, for she was as greedy as I and would have emptied herself completely if she’d been left to sit unattended. Arthur went next, cutting ahead of mistress, and then she went. “Alright! Now we can have some fun doing this!” mistress announced, rising from the well-filled potty. “Barbi, you’re next, and just let out what you wish. We can play quite awhile at this if we like.” “Mmm, okay,” I said. I sat back down again. The pot was getting dangerously full. I knew I’d get a little baptism on my bottom this time, the pee splashing up on me as I added more. No matter, I still had to go. We were all in this together now. We each took several more turns peeing in the chamber pot. True to mistress’ prediction, it proved quite sensuous. I felt immensely bad, doing it in front of the others, watching them do it in front of me. Never in my life had I experienced the heady pleasure of taking my turn upon a toilet while others watched. I felt like a naughty little girl, spreading my cunt lips with my fingers while Arthur and Mandy and mistress stared, sinfully fascinated. And each of them too did the same for me, in turn. Even watching the girls was special for me. They had a fey look on their face, as if sure that mommie would enter any minute and scold us, perhaps beat us. Arthur, standing proudly, was a sight to behold. He looked like a living statue, all marble right down to his cock and balls, spurting out dandelion wine for us girls. Perhaps for us to lap up when he was done. He suggested it, we declined. When we were done the pot was sloshing right at its brim with our pee. I think we bonded with each other in some new way, doing that. After we’d peed, eighteenth century style, mistress unlocked the bathroom. It was more than a toilet, actually. There was an entire storeroom here, with a pantry containing lots of food, a stove to cook it on, and a big refrigerator, just in case the world ended and we’d need to fuck for the rest of our lives, never going out again. I imagined what it would be like, Three Eves and an Adam, no funerals please. Least of all a funeral for Adam. He would have to be the last to die, unless I wanted to violate my own son. God, I could not do that, even if the world did end. Then again, if we were the last humans, and pregnant, without pills, and we each had a son, then there would be Three Eves and Four Adams, including Arthur. Mandy’s son, for instance, he would need to be trained. He would need a womb of his own to sperm. And I would be the youngest, save for his mother. Surely mistress would be too old for him by the time he was ‘of age’ to fuck. Yes, life after a holocaust might not be so bad, I mused. How many ladies in the world today HAD to, as a matter of principle, lie with a young boy? And be his ONLY lover? Mandy’s son would love only me. And mistress’ too. She could have mine. He would be so handsome that Mandy and her would tear each other to bits over him, while I had their two sons to entertain me in my old age. ‘Thank God for the Bomb,’ I’d say to that. And it wouldn’t be incest. Even if it was, sort of, there’d be no one to arrest us. Such odd thoughts I had down in the dungeon, where so much of what usually remained private was now on fierce display. His muscles straining, Arthur hefted the big chamber pot. He emptied it in the bathroom’s toilet and flushed our pee away. It took several pourings and several flushes before the pot was totally empty. Girlishly, we cheered him when it was done. He walked the pot back out to the dungeon’s entryway. He parked it just inside the front door. We were finished with it. He dumped some Lysol into it and tossed a towel over it to kill any rude smells. Then we regrouped in the bathroom. “Let’s wash,” mistress said. She turned on the tap in the bathroom. There was no tub, no shower. Just a sink, and the four of us. We all needed a bath, and we girls needed to douche too, except for mistress, who had abstained so far from Arthur’s cock, preferring instead to let me and Mandy have him. It was sweet of her, I realized. Here I had hated her for belting me, and caning Mandy, but in fact she’d deprived herself of Arthur to do it. I looked at her with renewed appreciation. “You’re special, you know that?” I asked her. “Specially perverted,” she laughed. “No, I like you!” I said. I leaned forward, let my nipples perk to hers. I kissed her mouth. “You will go far, darling,” she replied. She returned my kiss. Then she and I parted and I waited with tingling skin for her next move. Arthur ran his finger down my spine. I turned, my hair falling into my eyes. It was beautiful in its unkemptness. “Be good, Arthur,” I said. He dropped his hand. I patted the rock hard protuberance of his organ, like one might pet a dog. But there was nothing more yet, not yet. He must wait. We must all wait. Even orgies have their moments of modesty. Mistress considered plugging and filling the bowl, sharing the water, but there were simply too many of us. Our communal bath would have to be with the tap on, continually supplying fresh water into the sink. She took a washcloth (there appeared to be only one) and wet it. She reached out and ran it over my belly. “Oooh, you feel pregnant,” she teased. “Stop it!” I cried. I knew I hadn’t any protection that first night. I prayed she was just joking. I didn’t feel pregnant. But then some girls never knew, especially fat ones, until they were many months along. But then, I wasn’t fat. “If she is I’ll beat it out of her,” Arthur warned. “Quiet, Arthur,” mistress replied. “I’ll wash your cock in a minute.” “Just trying to be helpful,” Arthur grumbled. Slowly, luxuriously, we laved the washcloth over each other. It was a kind of dreamlike existence, the water hot, the air a tad chilly. We explored the roundness of each other’s breasts, were careful of wounded bottoms, bathed cunts with delighted pokes and douching squirts of a handy syringe. Lastly we did Arthur, savoring every inch of his massive frame, rubbing him until he was sparkling like a freshly-licked cub. “Oh, my! I’m afraid I have to poop!” mistress said when we’d finished bathing. “You don’t expect privacy for that?” I laughed. “Let’s see you do it!” Mandy, bug-eyed with the decadence of it all, insisted. “Alright, but hold your noses, I think it’s going to be a stinky one,” mistress said. At Arthur’s suggestion she sat down backwards on the flush toilet. We quickly found we had to pinch our nostrils and we watched, sinfully, as long turds oozed out of her back hole and plopped into the water beneath. “You can wipe in private,” I said when she was done, disgusted with myself. “Yes, please!” Mandy added, making every effort to embarrass her by holding her nose theatrically. Together we trooped from the room, out into the kitchen area. Arthur turned on the bathroom fan for her. “Would you like me to clean you up?” I heard him ask her. “No thanks, Arthur. See that the girls don’t make a mess out there, would you? Fifteen-year-old girls are not generally prized for their cooking,” she replied. “No indeed! I shall have to chaperone,” Arthur replied. “To protect the food!” With stinging bottoms Mandy and I inspected the pantry. We did not know what time it was, morning perhaps? There was no window down in this dungeon which lay beneath the snow-laden earth. Perhaps the world had been destroyed in a nuclear war and we were its last survivors, I thought again. From the promising erection standing up stiffly between us I had no doubt we would repopulate the planet quickly. Never mind one son each, we would be more likely to rival the wives of Abraham with our progeny. Arthur caressed our legs, the backs of our thighs. He placed his warm palms on our bottoms. “Arthur! Keep your hands to yourself!” Mandy chirped. “Yes!” I said, wincing. “Keep your hands off our fannies, sir. We are not just dolls for you to fondle whenever you please. Whenever you are...inflated.” I cast a glance down at his cock. It was gorgeous in its hugeness, stiff as wood for him in his first moments of wakefulness. And still stiff now, as yet unsatisfied. He jabbed it between our close-standing bodies, to Mandy’s renewed annoyance. “Arthur, we girls are not endlessly interested in men,” she reproved him. She continued rummaging about in the pantry. “We like eating, too,” I smiled at him. “Yes! Especially skinny girls like me and Barbi. We have a fast metab-- metab-- metabotulism!” Mandy declared. Mistress soon appeared. She found flour in the fridge, the big refrigerator that stood before us now in the storeroom, with its makeshift kitchen and shelves, and offered to cook us strawberry flapjacks. We agreed that would be a delicious way to start our new day in the dungeon. “But I cannot have flapjacks without a sausage to go with it,” Mandy insisted. I nudged her. Mandy and Beavis. She did not catch my meaning. “Mommie always browns me a sausage with my flapjacks,” she continued. She was feeling protected and infantile this morning, I think, being the littlest amongst us, demanding her breakfast. “Otherwise they are too gooey and syrupy, plus meat is good for you.” “Alright,” mistress said, with a wink at me. “Let me see if I can find some sausages in the fridge, dear. Did you see any in here?” “I just looked in the pantry,” Mandy answered. “I can’t cook flapjacks. I was looking for Lucky Charms.” She had them now, the box pressed to her belly. She was sticking her hand into the box and drawing out handfuls of cereal and munching on them. Wetly her tongue drew in more cereal from her sprinkling hand. Her bosoms rolled atop the box, big and juicy, with red tips like the little marshmallow hearts in the cereal. “Don’t eat too much of that junk,” mistress said. “Or you won’t be able to eat the breakfast I fix you.” “I always have room for a nice big sausage,” Mandy answered, her eyes uplifted, watching as she dumped another handful of the Leprechaun’s cereal into her mouth. “Oh! Here’s some,” mistress announced, looking again in the fridge. “Nice big long ones, straight from Bavaria.” She examined the plastic packaging. “Made in Munich!” “The capital of dicks,” I laughed. “Are these good enough for you, little one?” mistress asked Mandy. “Good!” Mandy chirped in reply. She munched loudly on her Lucky Charms, her cheeks stuffed with them. “Then give me that!” mistress answered. She took the box from Mandy and set it on a shelf above the fridge, where the girl could not reach it. “Oooh! Give me back my Lucky Charms!” Mandy whined. “I’m going to cook you a nice big breakfast, and I expect you to eat every bite,” mistress replied. She picked up an apron on the counter and, unfolding it, tied it around her waist. Her breasts jiggled their heaviness, ripe as summer gourds, as she leaned forward a little to tie the apron upon herself. Then she took a chef’s hat and plopped it atop her head, first pinning up her hair a little more, for it was falling in many loose strands around her eyes. Mandy stood watching her, rubbing her soft belly like some little teddy bear watching its mother. “Okay,” Mandy said at last. She was content. She walked over to Arthur, her saucy bottom cheeks rolling like firm mounds of jiggly jello, with the crack between them tight as a girl’s legs on her first date. Mandy struck Arthur’s cock with the flat of her hand. “Play with me!” she commanded. She looked up at him expectantly. Arthur gazed down at her, like some old dog roused by a puppy. I think he was growing weary of Mandy and her childish ways. One minute she berated his lust, the next she seemed to demand it, piquant, moody, expecting the entire universe to revolve around and respond to her ever-changing whims. “I could play with you in such a way that you would never get up again,” Arthur said with casual menace. “Do it!” Mandy replied, smugly. He was the bull, but in her mind at least, she was the bullfighter. “You are a silly little bitch,” Arthur replied. He seemed glad suddenly to have Mandy asking him for attention, and decided to lure her on a bit, not give her what she wished. I saw that I was forgotten and eased up next to the girl. “I’m a silly little bitch too,” I smiled at him. I ran my finger up the length of his cock and toyed with its tip with my fingernail. I stuck it into his peehole. “Does this provoke you, sir?” I asked. Manfully he just stood and watched. Mistress giggled. On a stove next to the fridge she began preparing our meal, decked out in her little waist apron and chef's hat, still wearing her elegant riding boots, as if she might mount a horse at any moment and decide to ride through the city bare. She would bring eggs and a muffin to all the men, to rouse them for their day’s labor. Arthur, entranced by her graceful maturity, watched her with renewed passion, while Mandy and I teased his cock. We batted it about with our hands, watching it wiggle to and fro. He ignored us. He let us play with him as an adult dog entertains puppies, its eyes fixed on its master, waiting for dinner. Our chef smiled at her flapjacks, aware of Arthur’s eyes. Her teeth were white, her lips lustrous. She had a newlywed wife look to her, classy yet vulnerable. Her divine breasts wiggled their rubicund tips over the steaming food. Her bottom swayed easily, naked beneath the big bow of her apron. The sleekness of the backs of her thighs was enchanting, stretching down to her improbable boots. They had spiked heels, as stiff and implacable as the cock Arthur absently presented us with as he watched our winsome cook. Someday she would be old, flabby, irate at her husband, her hair pinned up in curlers, perhaps wearing the remnants of a mudpack, a flannel robe girding her ever-expanding middle. She would be a feminist pin-up then, wrinkled, demanding, aware of her husband’s every fault and certain to enumerate them at every morning meal. But now she was still fetching and young, nonchalant in her nudity yet aware of its effect on her hubby’s eyes. He turned away finally, unable to bear the dreamy sight. He would cum too soon if he didn’t watch himself. “Hey, come back with that penis!” Mandy admonished. “I, uh, need to do some chin-ups,” Arthur croaked. He walked as one might who had just barely averted an accident, trembling a bit, his hugely swollen cock quavering deliciously. To clear his mind of mistress he bent and touched his toes a few times. Mandy and I watched his balls as they slowly descended from a height of excitement to swing again in relative calm under his ass. “You have a hairy butt crack,” Mandy told Arthur. She walked up behind him and tugged at some hair in his ass. “Yuck!” she said. “How disgusting!” Then, obviously not disgusted in the least, she poked her finger into his hole. “OWWW!” Arthur growled. He stood erect, forgetting his toe-touches, and glared behind himself at Mandy. It was incredible, all of us naked, fiddling with each other’s intimate parts, watching as passion coursed through one or the other, climaxes surging, retreating. Mistress, usually a paragon of restraint, rubbed herself a little between her legs, so hot was the mood in our little kitchen, the sausages sizzling on the grill as we waited to fill our hungry bellies. I touched myself too, watching Arthur do his toe touches. “Mandy, try not to stick your finger up Arthur’s ass, however inviting it might appear,” mistress told her. She worked over the stove, her cheeks rosy, her breath quickening as she toyed with her clit. “It’s totally disgusting,” Mandy exclaimed. She walked round in front of him and took hold of his cock instead. He shuddered anew, but seemed to find some new strength and did not cum. I watched as his balls tightened again, the sac drawing up until it seemed to be painfully taut. Glad that Arthur would not keep us away, I quickly joined Mandy at his front. Still diddling with my own private, I played my fingers over his as well. We exchanged glances. Mandy, seeing masturbation would not be discouraged, found her own sweet spot and hunnied it up a bit with her fingers. There was a chinning bar in the storeroom. It was, no doubt, for exercising, so a male staying long days down here would not lose his muscles. Arthur took hold of it and hoisted himself up and down on it, biceps bulging, while Mandy and I continued to entertain ourselves with his penis. All the while we kept fondling ourselves. Our breath became increasingly fast-paced, even as Arthur huffed and puffed on the bar. Mistress watched us playing out of the corner of her eye. Her own breath was more rapid, her fingers strumming over her little private bud while she cooked us breakfast. Happily, if breathily, she hummed a tune, plotting new perversions for us. All our inhibitions were gone. We were bare-ass naked, and very randy. Our tits wobbled, tender teats erect as Arthur. Our bottoms wiggled with pent-up desire. Our legs squeezed together and then flexed apart, like little girls waiting outside a restroom that was locked and in use. Yet peeing was hardly on our minds. We were already wet there, and wished to be wetter still. “Come, kids,” mistress said gaily. She laughed, took her hand away from her own nest. “I mean, come, as in it’s time for breakfast!” Savoring my own arousal, I desisted in frigging myself, and batted Mandy’s hand away from her own cunt. “Don’t!” Mandy reproved me. She returned her hand to herself, eager to have her orgasm. With gentlemanly care Arthur took her wrist and lifted her fingers from her cunny. They were wet with her dew. He kissed her hand and then cleaned her little digits with his tongue, one by one, as a father might kiss each of his baby’s toes. Mandy watched, intrigued, and did not try to pleasure herself with her other hand. “Tickle me,” she commanded at last. She was eager to continue the game. Arthur slapped her soft belly. “Into the living room, tummy girl!” he told her. “Let’s see if we can get something into that belly of yours besides Lucky Charms!” “Oh, okay,” Mandy relented. But, walking ahead of him, she was visibly agitated, her legs jittery and her bottom wriggling with her pent-up need. I followed, my own hips swaying like some mare in heat, inviting the stallion none-too-subtly to mount me. Arthur, himself fighting down a surging of his lively sperm, walked behind me stiff-legged, awkward in his gait. Mistress got us plates and napkins and arranged us for our meal. She served us steaming cups of hot cocoa along with our food. Then she took off her chef’s hat and her apron and joined us. Arthur eyed her bush. He seemed glad that it was hidden no longer. We sat on the dungeon's soft carpeting to eat. Cross-legged, pussies open and displayed, we sat round Arthur like Indian maidens, worshipping the Pilgrim Father who’d come to teach us to mend our primitive ways. Arthur, his cock large and looming, sat with his own legs apart. His dong stuck up, fixing our eyes, a Pilgrim spear, a Spanish lance. He was a Conquistador, I thought, come to conquer us, not save us. We were enslaved by his lance. Hotly we desired to give our honey-golden cunnies to it. Shivering, we ate with our fingers. Syrup dribbled down my wrist, lacing my arm with sweetness and dripping off my elbow. I cared not. Others would clean the rug when we were gone. Our job was only to play, carefree in our bondage, naked and unfettered by any responsibilities. Yet, in our nudity, our freedom, we were bound by our own desire. I did not feel comfortable. I felt agitated. I popped a sausage in my mouth. I bit off the end of it, vengefully. I should be sitting primly in my seat at school, my loins quiet, not restive, not hungrier than my belly, which gnawed at me. I’d skipped dinner to feed my pussy, yet it hungered still. I pushed more of the sausage into my mouth. Mandy played with her food, too full of Lucky Charms. She took her longed-for sausage and prodded her cuntlips with it. “Don’t play with your food, dear,” mistress cautioned her. “It’s not polite.” I giggled, put my hand over my face, laughed harder. My food in my mouth wound up in my palm. We were wicked, decadent. “Oooh, I can’t help it, I need it more here than in my tummy!” Mandy said frankly. She nosed the big sausage into her tightly proffered lips. Mistress thought to slap her, then relented. We were too far gone. Modesty had fled, never to return. “Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!” Mandy cried. Her face tilted up in a swoon as she stuffed the sausage into herself and then brought it out again, wet with her need, only to ram it back up. I tried to ignore her. I wanted to do the same, but I was eating mine. Arthur watched bemused, knowing his cock was pledged to mistress’ plans, not to the unseemly display of a little girl who could not control herself. “She needs tutoring,” I said to mistress, trying to distance myself from Mandy and her antics. I brushed my hair back from my face with my sticky fingers. I lifted my own sausage to my lips and bit delicately into it, chewed properly, swallowed discreetly. “Yes, she needs to be pussy-trained,” mistress replied. Mandy screamed, bucking upon the sausage as if it were a live male penis filling her. “But you are my favorite,” mistress continued, turning her face toward mine. “You are not just some little beaver, like Mandy, all untrained desires and appetites. You at least try to be lady-like, and often succeed, I might add, which is more than I can say for myself, when I was your age. You intrigue me, dear. With Mandy it is all just untrained passion. She needs a belt, nothing more. You, though, have a newlywed’s charm about you.” “And you,” I answered. “Yes, but I am ‘of age’ for it, darling. It is nothing in my case. In yours, though, you could still be brattish, yet you are not. And your reservations are now just for show, as they should be. You enter into the sport as eagerly as any woman. It is good that you do not fight it, but come to it with lowered lashes, moistened lips, and sweetly opened legs. I watched you upon Arthur last night, and it was a marriage-fuck, I tell you, a bride with her groom, both of you earnest. I wish to see more trysts like that, and we are well equipped for it. Your pussy is well-opened now, yet still tight as a virgin’s; Arthur is huge and seems to renew himself as often as we require. And this room, ah...” She surveyed it with sparkling eyes as Mandy, kneeling now, bounced on her sausage, ignored by us even as she keened into the the highest reaches of orgasm. I squirmed as I thought of what lay ahead. Mistress ceased talking, but hinted that much was still in store for me, for all of us, but me especially, and much of it decadently inventive, as if the sex act alone would not satisfy her, but must be embroidered with the most outrageous perversions. I gazed around me, examining the possibilities. They were scary. Yet, like a rabbit caught before headlights, they burned into me with their awful intentions. There was a pillory, where the hands and head of a wayward Puritan might be imprisoned. I would play the part, I guessed, drafted out of my Indian-maiden status and into that of a Puritan girl, her dress and petticoat torn away, her bare bottom on view to all who might see, her bosoms sweetly offered, though her neck and hands were clamped securely within the wood. There was a rape rack, where I might be left for days, to be fucked again and again at Arthur’s leisure, or even at the leisure of other men who might be invited downstairs. There was a whipping post, silent and ready for my discipline, where I could be bound for the slightest infraction of made-up rules that, in fact, were impossible to obey. And there was a wooden ladder, standing upright against the wall. It led nowhere, but left the ass of any “climber” wonderfully exposed. I felt a kind of lightheadedness. Clouds flitted before my eyes. I looked down at my flapjacks. It was too much for me, this room, yet I could not escape it. My own burning between my legs told me I could not escape it. Mandy, her passion spent at last, quietened and replaced the sausage on her plate, guilty-eyed. “I’m full,” she announced. “I guess you are,” mistress answered. Mistress ate her flapjacks with refined grace, as if at a formal dinner, though still with her fingers. They were long, delicate. Her nails were glossy and perfectly polished. She opened her lips and popped in small pieces of dough as she tore them from her flapjacks. Her earrings glittered. She looked up at Arthur. “Do you ever read, dear?” she asked politely. She wished he had a Ph.D. now, that he might entertain her with his mind. All women wanted that, I guessed, a truck driver...with a Ph.D. “Sure,” Arthur answered. “I read about sports, when I’m not, you know, busy...” “Oh,” mistress replied. She wanted more. I giggled. I did not say anything, but the word ‘watersports’ glided through my mind. I did not wish to spoil mistress’ discreet conversation. I put my cup of hot cocoa to my lips and sipped upon it. “I like Jane Austen, myself,” mistress offered. “And the Bronte sisters.” “I didn’t ever see them writing about sports,” Arthur mused. Mistress waved her hand dismissively. Arthur had many assets, but they were all before us now. There was nothing else, nothing more. I thought of talking about my impression of Hamlet. I’d been forced to read it in high school, but had skipped a lot of it. I guessed mistress wouldn’t find my observations to be quite on the level she was looking for. Too bad. I wanted to help her, but could not. Perhaps we’d read together, she and I, sometime. We’d lie on our tummies in bed and read aloud from Wuthering Heights. We’d take college classes together. We’d go to university dinners, dressed in ravishing gowns, and chat with Al Gore about the information superhighway. Afterwards we’d pop by Bill Gates’ house, and marvel at his technicolor walls, each different, while he gazed at us, prettier still than anything his money could buy. Living flesh, in shimmering evening wear, with long, glossy hair. He’d court us with jewels and precious gifts, hoping to buy the electronic rights to us. We’d succumb at last. A hundred years later, dead in our graves, we’d stalk across his walls still, lovely and fresh. He would even create new images using our video selves, and place us in films with Clint Eastwood and J.F.K., men we’d never met. We’d have sex together, mistress with Elvis, me with Luke Skywalker. C-3PO would bring us drinks to refresh us. Spock would observe us, fascinated. Senator Exon would vow to ban us. Mandy gazed about the room, looking for new pleasures. Her wandering eyes fell upon a hanging chair swing. It was made of leather. It hung from slender chains. The chair had a hole in its seat, through which any bottom, seated upon it, would necessarily protrude. "Why doesn't that chair have a proper seat?" Mandy asked with feigned innocence. She pointed to the chair. Her breasts trembled as she pointed. I’m sure she knew what it was for, didn’t she? I could guess, just looking at it. It was suspended about a foot off the floor, just enough for a man to lie beneath it, though without any room for his erect penis. That would have to jut up through the hole in the chair, through which the seated female's bottom descended. I think my arousal made my mind work quickly. I saw possibilities that, absent my heat, I might miss. Maybe Mandy did not see the obvious use of the chair, as I did. Or maybe she just pretended not to, so she’d be the first to try it. Arthur, looking over his shoulder, observed the chair with hungry eyes. His huge swollen member throbbed desperately. "A girl sits in the chair," Mistress explained happily. Jane Austen had failed. Boccaccio triumphed again. "Her lover lies beneath her and gets his cock up her. Then someone twists the chair round and round, winding together the chains that hold the chair suspended. After this the person lets go. The chair spins wildly, unwinding, while the poor girl finds herself impaled on a 'spinning' prick." Mandy's breath caught in her throat. She put a sticky hand to her breasts, so taken was she with the full explanation of the chair's purpose. Even Arthur seemed smitten. His cock seemed to tremble with even greater, more enhanced excitement, though that hardly seemed possible, given how hard he already was. Mistress reached between Arthur’s legs. Like a bird, her hand fluttered down to his penis. She touched a syrupy finger to its throbbing tip. "Yes, Arthur, the male finds his member tested in an exquisite new way. Imagine Mandy’s near-virgin cunt rotating upon your cock. So tight, so newly opened. You'll be as ravaged as she when it’s over." We finished breakfast quickly. We gulped down the last of our hot cocoa. Arthur ate Mandy’s flapjacks for her. We were inspired at this new opportunity for depravity. Mistress rose. She repinned her hair atop her head to give her a dignified look. I stood up and brushed my hair back with both hands. I felt free. My mane of hair tumbled down my back, lustrous and beautiful. Would I be mistress’ assistant? I guessed I would. She bent, clasped Mandy by the hand. The girl looked up at her, knowing, shy now that she had been chosen. She gulped quietly. I admired her for her newfound decorum. Mistress lifted her to her feet. She patted the girl’s belly. Arthur stood and stretched. His strength would be needed soon. It would be tested in a unique new way. Was he up to the job? I apprised his cock. “You, sir, are going to have a lot less sperm in a few minutes,” I teased him. “I’ll make more,” he replied, but I could see a rictus of anxiety flit across his face. No man likes to know that the source of his strength will soon be gone. “You’ll spurt in her like never before,” mistress said to him. She grinned like death greets a sinner. “Well, I’ve never actually tried one of these before, believe it or not,” Arthur answered. He turned and looked at the chair. He viewed it as a boy might look upon some test of strength, unsure. His cock stuck out in front of him. ‘Yes, Arthur, I thought, it will go right up through that hole, your greatest fantasy, and your worst nightmare. Complete loss of control. A spinning chair, a virgin-gripping cunt. Can you handle the job, Arthur? I hope so, because you’ve got no choice.’ “We could send out for pizza,” Arthur offered suddenly. “And a cock?” Mistress asked. She crooked a finger under his chin, his jutting chin. So certain, yet with a kind of unsteadiness to it. “No, I don’t think so, Arthur. I don’t want some pimply pizza delivery boy’s cock under the chair. I want your big thing down there, Arthur. With little Mandy here on top!” Mandy straightened her back at that. The Lucky Charms girl liked the idea of being in charge. “Oooh, goody! I get to be on top...” Mandy said, contemplating the chair. Her steps were still hesitant, though, as mistress led her to it. Together their breasts bounced as they walked to it, me following, Arthur beside us, the rooster leading his hens to his own chopping block. The chair was a sling. It would make the gripping on the male member all the tighter. Mistress took one side, I took the other. Together we opened the chair. Mandy, standing before it, got a very good look at the hole in its seat. “Come and sit down, dear,” Mistress smiled. Mandy stood a moment, her finger cocked to her lips, her mouth open. I could see her tongue sitting within. “It’s best if you go voluntarily girl,” mistress said at last, a touch of menace in her voice. Mandy turned, plopped her bottom down. “Oh! There is no seat!” she cried, like a prisoner suddenly discovering the electric chair actually really does pass an electrical current, with the greatest of ease. She squirmed to try to keep her bottom up, but inexorably it passed out through the bottom of the sling. Mistress and I let go of the sides of the chair so they would hold her legs snugly. “It’s not very comfortable,” Mandy announced. “Comfort is not its intended purpose, darling,” mistress replied with the eyes of a siamese cat. All knowing, all seeing. Never telling til its too late. “I want up...I can’t get out!” Mandy yelped. “The time has come, the Walrus said, to sit on a big thing...” Mistress intoned. “Up with your hands!” I said, at a nod from mistress. I took Mandy’s wrists within my fingers. She seemed to wilt as I touched them. “Such a limp-wristed heroine!” I teased, but lifted her hands quickly before she might grow restive again. A pair of handcuffs waited along the rearmost chain, the one that held up the back of the seat. It was pinioned there, waiting, its two cuffs hanging down, conveniently left open by the previous players. Who had the key? I wondered. No matter. They were not my wrists. I clipped Mandy’s hands into the cuffs and closed them shut. “Not too tight,” mistress cautioned. I closed them with care until they were snug upon her. When I looked down, the spectacle of her twin breasts, sticking out obscenely, greeted my eyes. “You look like you’re in a meat-packing plant!” I laughed. A tear came to Mandy’s eye. “It’s not funny!” she whined. Arthur stared at her with renewed passion. She looked so silly, yet so delightful, sitting there, her tits sticking out, her ass hanging down precariously through the hole. Mistress took a handkerchief and wiped away Mandy’s tear. “It’s better to be a prisoner in the chair,” mistress said. “There must not be any chance to stop the drilling of your cunt once it has begun. Girls have gotten hurt trying to leap off the chair in mid-spin, so shocking is the sensation of the 'spinning' cock!” She patted Mandy on the head, as one might a child at church. “You see? I’m looking out for your welfare.” I suppressed a giggle. “Thanks a lot,” Mandy groused. She tested her bonds. They would not let her out, gripped her well. The chains rustled, tense. “The first time I was put in a chair like this they pinched off my nipples with clamps, and peed in my face,” mistress said. I gasped. Mandy looked dumbfounded. “So don’t be a crybaby. I’m going easy on you, little dear.” She turned to me. “Now her legs must be lifted and spread. The chair will still grip her thighs, at least what remains of them within the sling, but I want her cunt nicely presented for Arthur. Are you coming along there, dear?” she asked. She turned a bit, arched her shoulder. “I’m getting as much fucking grease on my cock as I possibly can!” Arthur admitted. He held a nearly empty jar of vaseline in his hand. His penis looked like it had been coated with a pound of wax. Its girth was even more huge now, with so much vaseline smoothed over it. “Sissy,” mistress laughed. He gave her an angry look. “Ah, such an ERECTION!” she continued. “I’ll bet it doesn’t stick out like that when I’m through with it! Or, rather, when wee little Mandy’s cunt here is done with it.” Silently I took each of Mandy’s heels and lifted it up. She did not try to fight me. I think mistress had put the fear of God into her with her story of her own first experience in the chair. For each ankle, a chain waited, with another handcuff hung from it. These chains supported the front part of the chair, one on each side. And their handcuffs were each lined with felt, to ease the plight of the foot so nastily bound within. I buckled Mandy into her chair. I stepped back. She looked even more fantastic now, her legs arched up, knees bent back, the undersides of her thighs and calves showing. “Here,” mistress said. She handed me two slim leather bands. “Put them around her legs, one just above each knee.” “What are THOSE for?” Mandy asked, dismayed. Mistress picked up a round wooden cylinder that was about two feet long. “It’s for this,” she replied, smiling. I buckled the leather straps above each of Mandy’s knees. Then mistress took the post and used it to brace Mandy’s legs wide open. She set it between the girl’s widely-separated knees and fastened each end of it to one of the straps I’d provided. “There we are, I think that’s best,” mistress replied. “Her cunt’s going to be tight enough without pressing her legs together. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” She glanced back at Arthur. “You might be ground to the width of a pencil if we had her really squeeze you, hmmm, dear?” “Fine with me,” Arthur said. “I know how tight a virgin can be. She hasn’t been de-virginated very long.” His huge pole looked like a giant wax candle now, there was so much grease upon it. “And as for you, little one,” mistress said, turning her face back to her. “Just be glad I don’t ram him up your ass instead of your cunny. That would indeed be an unforgettable ride!” “Oh, boo hoo,” Mandy snuffled. She looked abject, ridiculous, but somehow still quite feminine, hung up like that with her legs spread and her arms made useless. “Be quiet or I’ll stuff a ball gag into that pretty mouth of yours,” mistress cautioned. “It was done to me!” “What HASN’T been done to you?” Mandy asked, wide-eyed. “I’m just 20, dear. I’ve not done that much. Do I look like one of those old whores who’s been tromping through dungeons for half a lifetime, like you see in Paradise magazine?” “You will, someday!” Mandy observed, from her position beneath us, gazing up at us with her legs spread. “Repent!” “After this honey, I promise,” mistress answered. I bent down and tickled Mandy’s clit. “Don’t look so glum,” I said. “His cock beats a sausage any day.” “Don’t touch me!” Mandy answered, watching as I diddled her. “Oh, don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! This isn’t ‘good touch, bad touch, silly!” I tickled her some more, vengefully, right where it counted. “My, you’re acquiring a bit of spirit,” mistress observed. My titties wiggled as I made Mandy’s own wiggle more. “Oh, I’m just kooky!” I replied. Somewhat bashfully I took my finger away, straightened and placed it on my own clit. I shivered. The passion in the room was incredible. It seemed to pulse through it, rising, receding, ever-present. I’d never been so horny in my life. It made me uncomfortable. ‘Comfort is not the intended purpose,’ echoed through my head. “Well, at least that will feel very good when it’s over,” Mandy consoled herself, looking down at her tiny swollen bud. “Your clit? Ah no, sweetie. With Arthur invading you from behind, as it were, with his head out beyond the back of your chair, he won’t quite get to touch your sweetspot. You’ll be desperate when the game is done, even if you cum from the pressure in your vagina. Your little bud there will be begging for attention. Another reason I wanted to force your legs apart. Nothing will touch you where you want it most. You are at my mercy, now, little huggabear.” I smiled. How utterly wicked! I was very, very glad my ass wasn’t in that awful seat. I slapped mistress’ behind. She flinched. She looked at my hand, as if to scold it. “Ah, you make me wish I’d tied you, instead!” she said. Genghis-Khan grinning at a vassal. “There’s still time!” Mandy offered. Briefly she struggled in her bonds. “What, and spoil such a child, who filled up her tummy on Lucky Charms, when mommie cooked such a nice breakfast?” mistress teased. Lightly she touched a finger to Mandy’s jaw. “Chin up, little one!” Then she turned, and I with her, and together we proceeded to Arthur. “Time to get your rocks off!” she said to him. “This is the first time in my life I’ve dreaded that saying,” he answered. I looked at his cock, his balls, the very picture of hardness and virility. ‘Such a pity to spoil such a nice display,’ I thought, but couldn’t resist seeing it done. Mistress touched a finger to Arthur’s broad shoulder, soft as a butterfly. “Come, Hercules,” she said. “Time for your labors.” We guided him to where Mandy lay. He got down on the rug for us. Mistress rolled him onto his side and handcuffed his hands behind him. Then she put him on his back again. He was compliant. He knew the hour had come, and he must be manly. The heaviness of Mandy’s bottom pressed down upon his dick, forcing it against his belly. “Only your cock will be needed, Arthur, and I don’t want you having any second thoughts in mid-spin,” mistress advised him. She spread his legs wide apart. After admiring his balls a moment, she fit a spreader bar between his ankles. “Yes, that should do it,” she said. “Now for the really fun part!” She turned Arthur on his side again. His cock quivered like a tuning fork as it came out from under Mandy’s sagging tush. “Spin the chair up, Barbi,” mistress told me. We had to get Mandy’s ass high enough that we could slip Arthur into her. “Oh, please don’t!” Mandy begged me. She looked quite frightened as I spun the chair about. It was quite easy, once I got it going. “Up, up, up you go, and where you’ll come down we all do know!” I laughed. She shivered as she realized there was no escape. I admired her titties, so big for her age. Traitorously her nipples stood out like living coral. Or, rather, like coral after its dead and solid, but revived somehow in the tips of her pointed breasts. “Yes, that will be just about right,” mistress said, when I’d gotten Mandy up as far as the chains would allow. Then, to my amazement and Mandy’s dismay, she pushed two pillows under Arthur’s ass to raise his cock higher still. Mistress introduced Arthur’s penis to Mandy's cunt. The girl had to raise her bottom momentarily to give him room to get himself up her. Finally it was done. A pillow was put beneath Arthur's ass and his loins pressed up against Mandy's jutting bottom, his cock wedged inside her, twisted back, a rather uncomfortable way to enter a girl, I would think, though Arthur was so hard he wouldn’t have felt the pain of it, I imagined, even if it hurt. Seeing his penis bent back like that, I thought of twisted iron re-bar. Poor Mandy! She had the thing stuck up inside her! She whimpered, I think it might have hurt her virginal cunt a little. I shuddered at what she’d feel when we let the chair go! Mandy wriggled in the chair. She could not lift herself up. She could do little except wait for it to be released, to have Arthur sent spinning up inside her. Yet now, it was already hurting her, from the look on her face. A big gnarly Man’s cock, stuffed up into her little childish twat. I gazed at her tummy to see if I could see it bulging within her, but I could not. She trembled. Her breasts heaved with her intake of breath, shivered when she let her breath back out again. Her flat belly quavered. "If you want that cock out of you, you'll have to bring it off," mistress smiled at Mandy. The girl looked scared as we wound up the chair for her. Arthur's cock was big and she'd practically had an orgasm just having it put up her. The fleshy thing was greasily revealed as we wound Mandy upward. What had been shoved up her now came slowly out, as her cunt was lifted off him by the twirling-up of the chair’s chains. His hairy, bulging balls were no longer squashed up against her bottom now. Yet they still brimmed with his hot sperm. Mandy would give herself quite a douche when she spun back down on him and brought him off. "Lucky for you that mistress gave you a pill yesterday," I said. "You'd be a mother of quintuplets." "I can feel him," Mandy gasped. "His cockhead is sliding back down now, though it was right in my womb a moment ago!" "You may get fertilized yet, despite the pill," mistress teased. “He looks like he’s got a LOT of sperm in those balls.” She smiled at Mandy. She meant no harm to the girl. She knew Mandy could take it, though she might be a little sore afterward. It was necessary for Mandy to become more experienced, to be opened up to cock. To learn to take a big male member in her without compalint. "Are you ready?" mistress asked the girl. Mandy, legs akimbo, eyes wide, gazed up at us. She dared not say yes. Finally, wet lipped, she managed a nod. A hesitant, frightened nod, but a nod all the same. We let go. "Wheeeeyaaaaah!" Mandy screamed like a small girl at some obscene carnival as she whirled about, breasts flying, hair streaming. We heard an immense groan below her, and then guessed Arthur had lost control and was shooting himself up her. Wildly they meshed together, involuntarily, and sounded like the damned in Hell as their connected privates did what nature so wilfully intended. Gravity had never been put to a more perverse purpose. Mandy, I guessed, tried clamping down on Arthur’s rod to keep him from being rammed up her. Her squeezing only served to excite him. He thrust into her, pulsing, jetting. She clenched more, hoping somehow to stop his dagger-like rise. They screamed and cried, drenching each other with their love juices. Finally the chair came to rest. It was all over in a moment, yet it seemed an eternity while I watched, so immensely moving was it. LIke the final minute of life for a man condemned, waiting for the firing squad. So long in happening, yet so short in reality. Arthur’s gun fired within her nest and they both climaxed together. A minute later the chair hung almost motionless. Mandy’s shivers sent it rocking slightly back and forth, but otherwise it was harmless. It could drop no further. Arthur's cock was harmless too, now that he’d been emptied. Snakelike, his cock began slipping down from Mandy's purse. Arthur gave a triumphant sigh. Mandy, wet with him, looked thankful as she felt him wither and drop down out of her. Like a deflated worm his thing came oozily out of her, not wanting to go at the last, the head still stuck in her. Mistress leaned forward and flicked Arthur’s cock to free Mandy from it. With a plop his cock dropped back down between his legs. Mandy was too dazed to speak, as was Arthur. Lovingly we unbuckled Mandy and lifted her bodily from the chair. Mistress and I carried her to the sanctuary of the pillows and cast her down there. We left her to whimper over her wounded cunt while going back to help Arthur with his equally ravaged penis. Soon they lay in each other's arms upon the pillows. They touched each other's genitals. They had a newfound respect for the power of each other's privates. Mistress and I stood and looked at one another. We were left to our own devices once more. Naked, bodies humming, breasts soft and full, hips flaring, lips moist. Our eyes met. There was a shared passion in them. "You are such a delightful pupil," mistress said admiringly. "I don't think I've ever had one so fine as you, so obedient, yet so daring. I'll give you your choice this time. Pick your poison, and I will administer it with loving care." "I should find out what's become of Kimber, of Debbi," I said by way of protest. She did not believe me. Gracefully she took me round the waist and led me on a little tour, pointing out the finer aspects of each of the room's wicked furnishings. There was a chair to splay the legs and expose the cunt as fully as possible, a prie-dieu for displaying the bottom, a large wooden X, canted, to which one might be tied spread-eagle. "Would you have me play the prisoner?" she asked. "Yes!" I gushed, with excitement and relief. "Let me be mistress now!" "I shall do to you whatever you do to me," she warned. "I don't care," I said, foolishly, in thrall at the idea of getting to play the dominant. No sooner had we made our sinful compact than mistress was bound helplessly on the big tilted X, nipples upthrust, her big bosoms rising and falling with her breathing, her cunt open and available to whatever depredations I wished for it. I strutted before her, my own mane of blonde hair neatly combed, my makeup freshened and impeccable. I held a riding crop twixt my breasts, upright, and licked its loop with my tongue, considering. What delicious torments could I force this woman to submit to? Should I don a dildo, pinch off her nipples with clamps? She had whispered secret perversions to me while we'd lain in bed at the general's, taunted me with all that could be done to the female body. I'd shuddered, listening sleepily, unwillingly, yet fascinated. Now I was boss, as I'd been briefly with the crop at the general's, and I had a wealth of new knowledge to draw on. Finally I chose a pair of clamps. Mistress winced and let out a little yowl as I fastened each of them to her sprouting teats. I tickled her. She grimaced, laughed. I diddled her clitty for awhile, my fingers nastily inquiring of her most intimate feature, bringing her gaspingly close to orgasm but not letting her come. After all, we had plenty of time. Arthur and Mandy watched, languidly, their own loins becoming pleasantly aroused at the sight of mistress' torment. Our only purpose in being here was to stimulate each other, again and again. Nothing interrupted, nothing intruded. We could keep at it for as long as we liked. Perhaps eventually we would grow tired, want the comforts of a real bed. Perhaps someday our food would run out, or we'd become bored. But not yet. I strapped on a dildo, admired its length, its girth. I'd never worn such before. There was a little pouch and I filled it with cream and slung it beneath my fake cock. A tube sticking up from the pouch fitted within a hollow passage inside the dildo I wore. I squeezed the pouch. A shot of hot cum leapt forth, spattered mistress' thigh. "No, let Arthur do me," she said, arms, legs pinioned. "I will fuck you, I am the man now," I said. My loins girded, I strode menacingly before her, considering. Then I took my riding crop and lashed her twice across the breasts. Her big bosoms shuddered. "No! Not there!" mistress begged. "Your tits will be sore tomorrow," I replied. "Be glad you don't have to sit on them." Again I struck her, watching wild eyed as her twin mounds bounced under the blow. They were just like the bottom, fatty tissue, and just as lovely to see tortured. I knew I must not strike them too hard, and played them with a certain gentleness, loving their jiggly response to my crop. Mistress moaned and begged, looking down occasionally, mesmerized, at her hurting titties. I plied them with the crop for half an hour, unclamping her nipples for awhile so I could watch them quiver. Finally, sensing she'd had enough, I pinned the clamps back on and set about greasing myself for my entry. Mandy, meantime, knelt on the rug with Arthur positioned behind her. They'd agreed to fuck while I pillaged mistress with my new cock. They waited, temptingly arranged, watching me oil my member. At last I unclamped mistress, for my breasts would soon be against hers. She gasped gratefully as the blood returned to her teats. I leaned forward and kissed one, then the other. She cried out joyfully, so sensitive had her nipples become from being imprisoned. It was amazing to me how pain produced pleasure. Lustily I eased myself forward. I was a toddler, unsure, embarking on a new adventure in the world. I fitted myself within her snatch. It resisted me at first. Behind me Mandy resisted the first thrust of Arthur. We were all so young and tight, even mistress, she being no more than twenty, perhaps nineteen. Only Arthur could claim to be fully legal, a manly twenty-two, still at his sexual peak while we toiled somewhere short of ours, though we knew it not, orgasming as often and intensely as he. We indulged ourselves then, in the quiet of our soundproofed dungeon, mating obscenely, I upon mistress, Arthur sodomizing Mandy. I worked as diligently as any male, my clitty rubbing against the strap that came up through my legs and split my backside like a thong. Our love seemed to last for hours. We were relaxed, unhurried. At last Arthur shouted that he was coming and I gave mistress my own load, artificially, squeezing my fake balls twixt my compressed thighs, bringing my legs together to give her my all. Casually I unbound mistress afterward, and helped her up. "You are as good as any man," she complimented. "Thank you," I replied. She walked stiff legged over to where Mandy was recovering from Arthur's assault. Crumpling down, she was welcomed by the girl, who kissed her lovingly upon the mouth. I dropped to the floor and settled into Arthur's arms. It was a long time before we bothered to get up again. 30 ----------------------- Dreamgirls! ----------------------- -Free e-mail subscriptions: No longer available due to mailbombing of my Internet account(s) by right-wing Christians. -Currently I am: roller39@mail.idt.net -formerly I was andrewroller@sprintmail.com, roller66@inreach.com, roller666@aol.com Read my complete works under these names by going to: http://www.excite.com (Click on ‘newsgroups’ and search under my various former screen names). (Also you can read irrelevant bullshit posted by right-wing Christians.) -Recent back issues at Usenet newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated -For all back issues, send e-mail to: file.request@backdrop.com - Free plug: http://www.netusa.net/files/Authors/eli/www/erotica/assm/ -Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope & age statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868 - JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership. NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018. =20 -Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder. =20 -END OF 272 EMISSION -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /